


Unhealthy Coping Strategies for the Modern Fuck Buddy

by judithandronicus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Angsturbation, Breaking Up & Making Up, Explicit Sexual Content, Flirting, Internalized Homophobia, Jealous Castiel (Supernatural), Jealous Dean Winchester, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Multi, POV Alternating, Pining, Professor Castiel (Supernatural), Touch-Starved, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27643742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judithandronicus/pseuds/judithandronicus
Summary: In this human AU, Professor Castiel Novak has it bad for his best friend, Dean Winchester, and maybe he's a little jealous of Dean's friend Benny Lafitte, especially when he realizes that Benny'sflirtingwith Dean. Well, it doesn't matter anyway, though. Dean's straight, right? Castiel's not quite sure how it happened. One second he's drinking and commiserating with Benny about Dean "no homo" Winchester, and the next? He's got himself a hot bear for a fuck buddy.Meanwhile, Dean's not sure what's going on with his two best friends, but he's definitely sure that he doesn't like it, even if he can't quite figure out why.
Relationships: Castiel/Benny Lafitte, Castiel/Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 109
Kudos: 135
Collections: The AO3 SPN Kink Meme





	1. Cover Art

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [theao3spnkinkmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/theao3spnkinkmeme) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Dean is very close with both Benny and Cas, even if the two aren't at all close with each other. One night where he manages to get both of them out to a bar with him, onlookers comment on the apparent love triangle, much to Dean's "no homo"ing chagrin. 
> 
> After Dean departs, Cas and Benny express annoyance at the "no homo" responses Dean gives off. A few drinks later, they verbally confirm what they've suspected for a while: both of them are into Dean, who is very, very not into either of them. Many more drinks later, the solution becomes clear: fuck each other while talking about what they'd rather be doing to Dean. 
> 
> Eventually, Dean finds out about the fuckbuddies arrangement and feels... left out? Maybe even... _jealous?_ But obviously, he supports his friends, and would never want to come between them. 
> 
> (Except for when he totally does.)
> 
> dnw: fecal, watersports, blood play, knife play


	2. Three's a Crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Castiel agrees to meet Dean and Benny for drinks, he expects it to be awkward and tense as usual, and Dean showing up late certainly doesn't bode well for the evening.

“This is awkward.” Castiel fidgets in his seat, watching a bubble of condensation slide down the neck of his untouched beer bottle.

“I’ll drink to that, brotha.” The burly man across from him stops bringing his own beer to his mouth, and instead reaches forward. After taking another quick glance around the bar for Dean, Castiel lifts his own drink and joins Benny in a toast to…awkwardly waiting for their friend.

Yeah, this is _really_ fucking awkward.

For the next twenty minutes, the two men fumble through a series of false starts, pathetic attempts at filling the silence between them as they wait for the arrival of the cornerstone of their reluctant little triad. Even with the social lubricant of alcohol, it’s an uneasy peace without Dean there to give them common ground.

“So, how’s school goin’ for ya?” Benny asks, half-heartedly. Castiel can see his eyes practically glazing over before he even opens his mouth to respond. He doesn’t blame him, not really. After all, even Dean tends to space out when Castiel gets going about his research, and they’ve been best friends for well over a decade. Studying ancient religious texts in dead languages isn’t exactly the sexiest thing in the world. So Cas gives him a canned short-form response, honed through years of having to translate an esoteric academic niche into something more palatable.

“Good, thanks. I’m going up for promotion next year, so I have the semester free from teaching obligations to focus on research. I’m hoping to finish the book by November.” It’s been a long time coming, this manuscript, and Castiel is excited to see it through this next phase. His detour into Enochian symbolism while studying early modern English occultism has proven to be a fascinating, if unusual, track for his academic career.

“Good for you, man.” Benny smiles at him, broad and unguarded, and Cas feels it in his stomach. It’s unexpected, to be honest. Benny hasn’t ever shown that kind of genuine interest in…well, in anything Cas does. He feels his cheeks warming as he grins back, soft and shy, and lets a quiet “Thank you” slip from his lips. He’s formulating a question of his own when Benny’s attention shifts from him. The other man raises a broad hand, waving in the direction of the entrance.

“Dean, we’re over here!”

Castiel’s mind floods with an odd mixture of relief and disappointment as he looks over his shoulder to see his friend walking toward them. He’s clearly dressed to pull tonight, in faded jeans stretched tight across his muscular thighs, a dark green henley that makes the golden flecks in his green eyes sparkle peeking out from his leather jacket. He looks good enough to eat. If, you know, Dean were into that sort of thing. With guys, that is.

Dean stops in front of their booth, tugs his jacket off, and hangs it on the hook at the edge of the table. “Sorry ‘bout being late, y’all,” he says, in a playful tone that belies his words, “but I just couldn’t figure out what to do with my hair.” He waggles his eyebrows and grins, and fuck if it isn’t annoying. And adorable.

“No worries at all, man,” Benny begins. “What’re ya drinkin’ tonight?”

“Depends…you buyin’?” Dean winks at the larger man, and Castiel does _not_ see red.

“This round’s on me, _cher_.” Okay, so when Benny winks _back_ at Dean, maybe Castiel sees a little red.

“In that case, gimme something…strong and sweet.”

“Sure thing. Castiel, how ‘bout you? Think you can take somethin’ as strong as our boy here?” Benny nods toward Dean, a predatory twinkle in his eyes as he draws the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip.

“C’mon, man, knock that shit off,” Dean’s gone from flirty tease to awkward and unsettled in the blink of an eye. Castiel tilts his head, squinting his eyes and peering at his best friend as he drinks it all in for a moment. Dean isn’t usually the shrinking violet type; no, if anything, he’s whatever kind of flower is the “flirt with anything with a pulse” type.

Castiel watches Dean, sees the blush painting his cheeks, and it hits him all at once. Benny flirting back makes him _nervous._ Is—is Dean _into_ Benny? He swallows back the bile he can taste rising in the back of his throat, and when he answers, Cas speaks more to the damp napkin under his empty bottle than to Benny. “I’ll have another beer, please.”

“Be right back, boys.” Benny taps his knuckles on the table as he scoots out from the booth, and heads for the bar. As soon as he’s gone, Dean slides into the now vacant seat. Because of course he’d choose to sit with Benny, Castiel’s brain supplies, helpfully.

“Hiya, Cas.” Dean nudges a bootclad toe against his foot.

“Hello, Dean.” He’s still talking to his napkin, afraid to let Dean see the emotion plastered on his face if he dares to glance up.

“Feels like I haven’t seen you in forever, man,” Dean continues, “y’know it’s good to come up from the books occasionally, right? Get fresh air into your lungs and all that shit? Maybe even get laid.” Castiel doesn’t have to look up to tell that Dean’s smiling that shit-eating grin. Dean loves to tease him about his tendency to get to disappear into his research. And, of course, what Dean has repeatedly called his “lack of game.”

An irritated huff escapes his lips as he rolls his eyes, muttering, “I’ve got a deadline.” Castiel knows he’s falling for it; he always falls for the bait. Dean knows how to rile him up better than anyone. “And besides, I get more ‘fresh air’ than you do, unless you’ve finally decided to take up jogging with Sam.”

Chuckling, Dean throws his hands up in mock-surrender. “Easy, man,” he says, his gravelly voice somehow, paradoxically, honey-smooth and sending a tingle straight to Castiel’s dick, “y’know I’m just yankin’ your chain, Doctor Professor Man.” Dean winks at him, and Castiel tries not to dissolve in a puddle of goo. Dean leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands. “How’s the book coming, anyway?”

Castiel can’t help it, how the corners of his lips tug up into a soft smile at Dean’s interest in his work. “Pretty good, actually. I’ve made quicker progress on the tablet translations than I’d expected, so I might be able to get a draft of this next chapter out as an article before submitting the monograph manuscript.” He stops mid-ramble, caught off-guard by the unreadable expression on Dean’s face. Castiel can’t tell if that dreamy look in Dean’s clover-green eyes is the result of boredom, bemusement, or something else. Whatever it is, though, it sends Castiel’s train of thought careening completely off its track. “So…uh, yeah,” he offers up as an awkward conclusion, “that’s about—yeah.”

_Smooth, Novak._

“That’s great, dude. Can’t wait to read my autographed copy.” The unadulterated pride in Dean’s voice sends a swell of heat throughout Castiel’s body, and it’s too much. He stares back at where the condensation dripping down his beer bottle has started to dissolve the napkin underneath it.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Gentlemen,” Benny’s voice booms as he makes his way back to their booth, “I come bearing gifts.” He’s holding two bottles by the neck in one surprisingly broad hand, and a ridiculous neon blue affair in a hurricane glass in the other. “Brotha,” he nods at Cas, sliding one of the beers toward him.

“And for you, _cher_ , somethin’ strong and sweet.” Benny winks at Dean as he slides the ridiculous drink toward him, and Castiel tries not to notice how Dean’s cheeks pinken, how he looks down toward the table, all shy and flustered.

“Scootch, partner,” Benny says, still staring down at Dean like he’s a goddamn meal. Dean bristles at the rough command, his shoulders tensing. Dean runs a hand across the back of his head,an idle gesture Cas has come to recognize over the years as an act of self-soothing, an unconscious little tic that appears when Dean’s feeling nervous. Benny’s making Dean nervous. Something deep in his gut tenses at the realization, and Castiel hates himself for it.

“Nah man, you know I ain’t a cuddler.” There’s a shakiness layered beneath the teasing bravado, but still, it’s _Dean._ Castiel knows he’s overreacting, anyway, getting all wound up and jealous over Benny. It’s not like Benny’s going to get anywhere with that flirting, after all. Dean’s straight. He lands an awkward punch against Benny’s bicep, and it transforms into an awkward shove, keeping that sexy mass of Cajun bear at arm’s distance.

Annoyingly, obnoxiously straight.

“Your loss, _cher_ ,” Benny purrs, and then slides into the booth next to Castiel. “I guess blue eyes here’ll have to keep me warm instead.” It takes a moment for Castiel’s brain to catch up, to register that warm, heavy weight across his shoulders as Benny’s arm draped possessively around him. To recognize that the line of heat where the other man’s massive, muscular thigh presses against his own. “I mean,” Benny continues, nosing playfully against Castiel’s cheekbone, “if that’s alright with you, Angel.”

Well, this is certainly an unexpected development, Castiel can’t help but think.

_Fuck._

* * *

The touch startles him. Dean shakes his head, clearing out the cobwebs, and looks down to see a small, tan hand resting on his forearm, its blood-red fingernails scraping lightly at the fabric of his shirt.

“Doin’ okay there, handsome?” The hand on his arm punctuates the question with a firm squeeze, and it’s enough to pull Dean out of his haze. When he looks up, the bartender is watching him appraisingly. A tangle of bottle-blonde hair has fallen loose from where its gathered at the top of her head, and it hangs over one of her black-smudged blue eyes, which are currently studying him like he’s hiding the secret to world peace or something behind his face. “There he is,” she purrs, her voice a throaty tease as her lips, stained the same deep crimson as her nails, curve into a predatory grin. “Trouble in paradise, lover?”

It takes Dean a moment to process what she’s saying. He’s on edge tonight, for some reason that he can’t quite place, and it feels like his thoughts are moving through sludge to get from his brain to his mouth. He gives his head another tiny shake, as though he could reset his brain like an etch-a-sketch. He reaches for the shot glass in front of him.

“Huh?”

“Just looks like you’re on the outs with your boys over there, hon.” She nods toward where Cas and Benny are sitting, and Dean’s stomach tightens. Benny’s still got his stupid big arm thrown over Cas’ stupid shoulders, and their faces are so close together their foreheads are practically touching. They don’t need to be sitting that close, for fuck’s sake, the bench seat is plenty big, even for two big, strong men like the two of them. And what the fuck is Benny even saying, anyway, that has Cas’ eyes crinkling at the corners like that? That’s _his_ look, dammit. Dean feels like he’s been sucker punched. He brings the glass to his lips and tosses it back, hissing at the burn of the amber liquid as it goes down. He taps the glass on the bar, waits for her to pour him another.

 _Wait,_ the little voice in the back of his head pulls his focus back to the conversation, _what did she say?_ He downs the second shot and slams the empty glass onto the bar.

“Whaddya mean by that?” he asks, standing up to his full height, puffing up his chest as he wiggles his shoulders.

“You’re just lookin’ a little lost over here, is all,” she responds, rubbing his forearm and shrugging, “and maybe just a tiny bit jealous. Which one is your fella, anyway?”

Dean sputters at her question, loses himself in a fury of righteous indignation and, let’s be honest, embarrassment. Which doesn’t mean he’s homophobic or anything; he just doesn’t swing that way. It’s not that Dean has a problem with it, really; after all, Cas pretty much only goes for dudes, and Benny? Well, he’s an equal opportunity hound dog, and let’s not forget that Charlie is about as gay as they come. Dean is completely fine with his friends and their various colors of the queer rainbow; it’s just…he’s _not._ Strictly an ally over here, straight as a goddamn arrow. And he doesn’t like it when people make assumptions. That’s all.

Especially not hot women in low-cut shirts with fuck-me lips, okay?

“Neither, sweetheart,” he flips on the Dean Winchester charm, leaning in close and giving her a flirty little grin, “I don’t swing that way.” He rakes his eyes down her body, lets his gaze linger on her tits for just a smidge longer than is respectful, and then winks. “When do you get off, anyway?”

“That depends,” she says as she leans over the bar, crossing her arms in a way that highlights her assets in the best of ways, “on whether you’re as good in bed as you think you are.” She matches his grin with a wicked one of her own, and Dean barks out a laugh. She’s got spunk; he likes that.

“Name’s Dean,” he offers, his voice husky, “what’s yours, darlin’?”

The blonde tilts her head and narrows her eyes, glancing over his shoulder to where Cas and Benny are sitting before returning her focus to Dean, sizing him up.

“Nice to meet you Dean; I’m Amanda.” For a long moment, Dean can’t get a clear read on her, afraid that she might actually believe he’s _jealous_ of Cas and Benny, which, by the way, he absolutely is _not,_ even though the sound of Benny laughing from across the room has him damn near biting a hole through his cheek. It’s not like Cas is even funny, for chrissakes. Not to anybody else, anyways.

Dean just smiles wider at her and ignores the rumbling laughter behind him. He does an awkward little drum solo on the edge of the bar, and what the _fuck_ is that, Winchester? That’s some Sam-level bullshit right there. He slides his arms further onto the bar so that he can lean in close to her ear, so close he can smell the floral notes of her perfume, faded as it is, mixing with the salt of her sweat. He noses against the dark ringlets at her temple, and then growls, “Well, Amanda, wanna get outta here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I am currently quite emotionally compromised by this show, and would appreciate comments and kudos. <3


	3. Somebody to Lean On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benny grins at him, and draws one of those broad palms to rest at the base of Castiel’s neck. “I was sayin’, cher,” he leans back in and rumbles against Cas’ ear again, “I think the good Mr. Winchester has found himself a conquest and left us to our own devices this fine evening.” For just a brief moment, Castiel thinks he feels something against his ear lobe, just the slightest ghost of pressure, maybe from Benny’s lips or tongue. But that can’t be right, can it? This is Benny, Dean’s big, hyper-masculine friend. That he does manly things with, like work on old cars and watch sports and go to strip clubs with. This isn’t some kind of flirtation; it can’t be.  
> \--  
> Dean leaves Benny and Cas to their own devices, shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the Traveling Wilburys, "Handle with Care"

“I believe we may have been forgotten, my dear.” Benny is leaning in so close that Cas can feel his breath, a hot tease along the shell of his ear, distracting him from…whatever Benny just said. He pulls back, just far enough away that he can turn and look the other man in the eye.

“I’m…ah, I’m sorry,” he stutters, trying to ignore the warmth in his cheeks, “what was that?” _Please don’t make a big deal out of this._ Benny loves to give him shit on the rare occasions when the three of them hang out, so Castiel knows the chances of him escaping without Benny mocking him for blushing are slim to none, but still, a guy can dream, right?

Benny grins at him, and draws one of those broad palms to rest at the base of Castiel’s neck. “I was sayin’, _cher_ ,” he leans back in and rumbles against Cas’ ear again, “I think the good Mr. Winchester has found himself a conquest and left us to our own devices this fine evening.” For just a brief moment, Castiel thinks he feels something against his ear lobe, just the slightest ghost of pressure, maybe from Benny’s lips or tongue. But that can’t be right, can it? This is _Benny_ , Dean’s big, hyper-masculine friend. That he does manly things with, like work on old cars and watch sports and go to strip clubs with. This isn’t some kind of _flirtation_ ; it can’t be.

Can it?

Since Benny still has him (comfortably, shut up) wedged into the booth, Castiel leans forward so that he can look toward the bar, and sure enough, sees Dean putting the moves on the petite blonde bartender. So much for Dean’s assertion that tonight is about “spending some quality time” with his “friends.” He chews on the inside of his lower lip and wonders if Dean will even bother stopping off to tell them goodbye before he leaves.

“I swear, somebody needs to bend that boy over and fuck some manners into ‘im,” Benny growls. “This shit’s gettin’ ridiculous.” Benny moves the hand not currently rubbing idle circles against Castiel’s back into his lap, where he, quite unsubtly, adjusts himself in his pants.

Castiel just nods, mutely.

“I’m gonna go for another round; you in?” Benny slides to the edge of the seat and stands up, and Castiel bites back a whimper at the loss of the firm hand against his back. He clears his throat a couple of times before answering, “Yeah, can I have one of those neon things Dean had?”

“Comin’ right up, sweet thing.”

Confused, perhaps, and—if he’s being really honest—more than a little turned on by Benny’s unexpected behavior, Castiel lets his gaze linger on the shape of the larger man’s body, the curve of his ass and flex of his thighs as he walks away. Benny’s not his usual type, insomuch as he _has_ a type. His scattered romantic entanglements have all been people he’s met through school or work, and Castiel still isn’t completely sure just what Benny does, other than a vague notion that it involves shipping or freight. For that matter, he doesn’t know how Benny and Dean actually met in the first place. Whatever.

It doesn’t matter, anyway.

Does it?

Castiel’s head is cloudy already, swirling with half-formed thoughts, lingering impressions of freckles and clover-green eyes, and a burgeoning desire to be held tight against a particular broad chest, to feel the scrape of that beard against sensitive flesh. It’s been a long time since he’s been touched. Too long.

A cloying floral scent pulls Castiel out of his reverie, the cheap, metallic undertones of drugstoreperfume harsh and unforgiving to his senses. He looks up to see Dean, the rakish grin splitting his face all teeth and bravado, with his arm slung carelessly over the shoulders of a petite blonde. _Yes_ , Castiel thinks, bitterly, _definitely dressed to pull._

“Heya, Cas, I’d like you to meet,” he trails off a bit, and Castiel is pretty sure he’s already forgotten the woman’s name, “A-an—“

“Amanda,” she says with a slight eye roll and a smirk, like she’s completely unperturbed by Dean’s behavior, offering her hand. Castiel only balks for a moment before he takes her small hand in his, surprised by the forcefulness of her handshake.

“Castiel. Nice to meet you.” His voice has gone even flatter than usual, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“So, uh,” Dean continues, “I know we were supposed to, you know, hang out tonight, but, well…” He manages a one-shoulder shrug with the arm not draped over his evening’s conquest and winks.

It’s infuriating. It’s arousing. It’s…it’s heartbreaking, is what it is.

Castiel brings his beer to his lips and takes a long swallow, closing his eyes as the now-lukewarm liquid sloshes down his throat. As he sets the bottle back onto the table, he feels himself slipping into that too-familiar blank mask. “I see, Dean. Are you at least going to tell Benny you’re leaving?”

Dean’s smile falters a bit at the question, and Cas can’t help but feel a little smug at catching his friend off guard like this.

“Y-you’re not,” Dean stammers, his face scrunching up in confusion, “dontcha want me to drop you at your place?”

“I’m not ready to leave yet; it’s been a while since I’ve let myself enjoy a good evening out. I believe I’ll see if Benny minds driving me home later.”

“Speak of the devil,” says the woman with the gross perfume and a hand in Dean’s back pocket— _Amanda,_ Castiel’s brain supplies, “you must be Benny.” Sure enough, Benny’s sidling up to the table, carrying a beer and Castiel’s fruity, neon abomination, which he sets down beforepressing a large palm to the center of Dean’s upper back to maneuver his way around the couple. A warmth washes over Castiel when he realizes that Benny has again chosen to sit next to him, even though the other side of the booth is just as close.

“That I am, _cherie_ ,” Benny drawls, “pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss…”

“This is Amanda.” Dean’s face is drawn tight, his voice tense as he speaks. “We were about to head out, so I wanted to tell Cas to get ready to go.”

“And I said that wasn’t necessary,” Castiel reminds him. “I’m more than capable of finding my own ride home, Dean.” Feeling brave and a little reckless, he slides his hand onto the top of Benny’s thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze. If the touch surprises Benny, he hides it well. He grins up at Dean before leaning back against the cushioning of the booth, and slides his arm across Castiel’s shoulders. Again. It feels good.

“Yeah, brotha, don’t you worry about your little bookworm here. I’ll make sure he gets home safe. You go and enjoy your evening.” Benny’s smile is wolfish, as is the wink he gives Amanda, who just laughs in response.

“Well, Dean,” the woman purrs, “it looks like your friend is in good hands with Benny Bear here. You ready to get out of here?”

As he waits for Dean’s response, Castiel studies his friend’s face carefully. His jaw clenches and unclenches, his mouth a tight line of…is that frustration? After several long moments, Dean swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing slowly in his throat, and just like that, the tension is gone. He slides a hand down to rest against Amanda’s hip, pulling her closer to his body, and smiles down at Castiel, wide and garish and flirtatious.

“Alright then,” he taps against the table, “I’ll see y’all later.”

Castiel watches them as they walk away, and wonders what it means that Dean’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

* * *

Dean scrubs his hand over his face, lets his fingers run through the spikes of hair on the top of his head. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

“”Earth to lover boy,” the voice sounds muffled, distant. He shakes his head a couple of times, and everything starts falling into sharper focus. They’re sitting in the Impala, still parked outside the Roadhouse, and Dean seriously needs to get his shit together.

“Penny for your thoughts?” The bartender— _fuck, what was her name?—_ still has her hand on his thigh, those blood-red nails scratching lightly against his inseam. The teasing touch is grounding, but it’s not enough. He’s still unsettled and can’t quite figure out why.

“Did they seem…I don’t know, _weird_ to you?”

“Who? Your boyfr—your _friends_?” She gives his thigh a squeeze, then starts walking her fingers up toward his crotch. He can barely feel it through the thick denim of his jeans; it’s just a little tickle against the fabric.

“Yeah, something just wasn’t right about…wait, what were you about to say?”

“Oh _honey_ ,” she murmurs, smokey voice dripping with a honeyed condescension, “you’re not gonna sit here and tell me you don’t have feelings for either of ‘em, are you?” She leans in and licks a line up the column of Dean’s throat.

Dean sputters helplessly, simultaneously confused and frustrated and hurt and still a little turned on. “I’m not gay.”

Her laughter rings out against the quiet of the night, the music from the bar nothing but a dull roar in the background. “Honey, I’m gonna be blunt here, but from what I’m seeing? You sure ain’t straight, either.” Dean’s not sure what’s going on, why she’s still sitting so close, why he can still feel the warmth of her body pressed against his own.

“That…that ain’t a problem for you?” The question comes out small and broken, _fuck._ Tonight is going so far off the rails Dean’s lost all ability to deal. _Fuck._

She nibbles her way up to his ear and licks along the shell. “Sweetie, we can still have fun tonight. You can worry about your boyfriends tomorrow.”

Dean swallows thickly, then turns to capture her lips in a kiss.

_Fuck it,_ he thinks to himself, _I’ll deal with them later._

* * *

The air feels thicker, charged with…with _something_ now. Something new and different and maybe just a little bit dangerous. Sort of—no, _exactly_ like the man whose thigh is currently pressed hip to knee against Castiel’s own. Whose arm is wrapped possessively around Castiel’s shoulders.

Castiel drops his head back to rest against Benny’s bicep, lets his eyes close, and takes a moment just to bask in the touch of another person’s body against his own.

“You doin’ alright there, Angel?” Benny husks, the Cajun accent more intense than usual when his lips are so close to Castiel’s ear that he can feel the heat of Benny’s breath.

Castiel rocks his head so that he can look Benny in the eyes, and gives the other man a lazy little smile. “W-why are you calling me that?”

“Angel?” Benny asks. “S’what it means, isn’t it? Angel of Thursday?” Benny nuzzles the tip of his nose against Castiel’s, and Castiel maybe doesn’t stop the tiny intake of breath.

“Didn’t realize you knew that,” Castiel says. “You’ve never really…y’know, shown much interest in getting to know me.”

“Well, darlin’, it’s become pretty damn clear that you and I ain’t exactly _competition_ like I’d thought we were before. Might as well get my head outta my ass and get to you know proper.”

Castiel sits up straight at Benny’s admission, and peers at him appraisingly, his head cocked slightly to the side. “What do you mean, competition?”

Benny barks out a laugh as he bangs his beer down onto the table, so forceful a dribble of foam sloshes out. “No need to play coy with me, brotha. Even a blind man could see you pinin’ for Winchester. You ain’t near as subtle as you think.” Castiel feels the color drain from his face, and something cold grips hold somewhere deep in his gut. If _Benny_ can tell, then…does _Dean_ know? Deep breaths, he tells himself, hoping to stave off the impending panic attack.

Meanwhile, Benny’s still laughing, his whole torso quaking with glee as he pulls Castiel even closer and wraps his free arm around his chest. “C’mere, _cher_ , calm down.” He presses his lips to the top of Castiel’s head, a featherlight hint of pressure that immediately soothes Castiel’s frazzled nerves. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Hey Benny,” he asks, suddenly feeling about ten times braver than usual, “you wanna take me home?” And before Benny has the chance to respond, Castiel is kissing him, deep and dirty and full of promise for what’s to come.

* * *

“Are you still with me, sugar?” She mouths her question against that spot underneath the hinge of his jaw, and it feels good in the way that it always feels good to feel the warmth of lips, maybe a hint of teeth there. Dean closes his eyes and tilts his head away from her, offering up more of his neck for the wet heat of that sinful mouth.

_Get outta your goddamn head, Winchester,_ he chastises himself, _just focus on that mouth._

He squirms a little in the driver’s seat, shifting just enough so that he can reach his left hand to rest on Amanda’s hip. As if moving of their own volition, Dean’s fingers roam up her side, underneath the soft black tee-shirt, then lets his palm curl into the gentle curve of her waist, relishing in the softness of her skin.

_This_ , he thinks, _this is familiar. I know how to do this._

Dean turns to her, practically falls into the kiss, his tongue forcefully thrusting into her mouth. Claiming, conquering. The hand on her waist slides further up to cup the swell of her breast, thumb teasing over her nipple until it starts to harden, until she’s whimpering softly into his mouth. He grins at that; of course he grins, can’t help but grin at the sounds he’s pulling from her with each gentle brush of his thumb, with each possessive thrust of his tongue. She cards her fingers through the short hair at his nape, digs those whorish red nails into the sensitive flesh, and _yes,_ he thinks, his cock twitching inside his jeans, _this is what I want._

“Fuck,” he groans into her mouth, “fuck, baby, that feels good.”

“You like it with a little bite?” She takes his bottom lip between her teeth and squeezes until he gasps, then sucks and nibbles to soothe the sting. He kneads her breast with a bit more force before sliding his hand down to hold the side of her hip. A little manhandling and scooting around, and Dean’s got her right where he wants her, straddling his lap and writhing against the bulge in his pants. Just a little friction, not enough to do anything but work him up, so he grabs hold her ass with both hands and pulls her down as he rocks up against the vee of her legs, and it feels good. So good that he lets his head drop back against the seat, rolling his hips again.

“ _Cas._ ”

The name drops from his lips like a mantra, a prayer, almost—soft and reverent, effortless. Only when the mass of soft, writhing curves on his laps stills does Dean realize what he’s said.

“Oh, honey,” she tuts, looking down at him with such sympathetic eyes he wants to die. “You got it bad.” He squeezes his eyes shut, as though that could somehow relieve the humiliation coiling up and around his spine.

_What the fuck._ Confusion swirls inside his brain in a mess of half-formed thoughts and questions and doubts; _what the fuck is happening?_

Dean’s not sure how much time has passed since his goddamn stupid asshole mouth betrayed him, but it’s been long enough that Amanda’s crawled off his lap.

“You wanna talk about it?” Dean opens his eyes and glances over at her. She’s now sitting in the passenger seat, looking gorgeously sex-rumpled, but fuck if it’s doing anything at all for little Dean _now_. He swallows, his tongue all dry and heavy in his throat, and flashes her a weak half-grin, because he knows she doesn’t mean it. There’s no goddamn way she’s not pissed as fuck at the situation, is there? “Hey, earth to lover boy,” she says, in that stupid smokey voice that _should_ be _doing_ things to him, goddammit, “I’m game to listen if you wanna.”

“Just, uh,” Dean begins, hesitant, as he reaches for his phone, “let me…um, I mean—I should check to make sure he got home safe.”


	4. Shaking...Quaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Benny bang. That's it, that's the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title refers to AC/DC, "You Shook Me"
> 
> I'm posting a little early this week because I've got other projects that need my focus tomorrow. I can't wait to see what y'all think. :D

Castiel doesn’t hear his phone buzz its silly little alert when the first message comes in. Or the second. He doesn’t hear it ring, either. And the voicemail notifications? Well, obviously those will have to wait until he’s not so busy. He’s only vaguely aware of the vibration in his back pocket, just enough to register the buzzing and pull it free, tossing it carelessly onto the coffee table without a glance. No, not now, when he’s on his knees between Benny’s spread legs, his face buried in the burly man’s crotch.

“Oh _fuck_ , cher,” Benny groans as he pulls back, his thick, calloused fingers sliding roughly through Castiel’s hair, gripping him tight as he thrusts forward again, “we shoulda been doin’ this all along.” Castiel just hums his agreement around Benny’s cock, lets his eyes flutter closed when he feels the head press against the back of his throat. It’s been too long since he’s had this, since he’s _let_ himself have this, and it’s good. It’s so goddamned _good_ to feel the heft of Benny’s cock on his tongue, to smell the musk of his arousal, to taste the saltiness of his skin and that bitter tang of precome bursting on his tastebuds. It’s been fucking _ages_ since Cas allowed himself this sort of unbridled pleasure, and by god, he’s going to milk the experience for everything it’s worth. He massages the underside of Benny’s shaft with his tongue, then hollows his cheeks and sucks hard as he pulls his head back, until his lips are sealed around the ridge of Benny’s cockhead. He flutters the tip of his tongue across the very tip, teases that sensitive seam underneath it, then swirls it around in lazy circles as he suckles the head, sweet and gentle.

For a moment, Castiel’s mind wanders to his friend Balthazar, who teaches psychology and social theory in the Department of Gender and Sexuality, and how he always teases about Castiel’s oral fixation. So fucking what? There’s something immensely satisfying about having a cock in his mouth, especially when its owner is making such delicious sounds above him. When he dips the tip of his tongue into the slit for another taste of precome, Benny looses a particularly throaty growl that resonates deep in Castiel’s gut and sends flares of arousal shooting along his spine. He responds by taking Benny down to the root, until he’s nuzzling the tip of his nose into the wiry hair on Benny’s pelvis, and then swallows around him. He smiles—well, as much as he can smile with his mouth full of cock—to hear Benny blaspheme in that delightful creole of his, taking the name of his lord and savior in vain in a litany of French and English peppered with wordless grunts and gasps of Castiel’s name.

“ _Fuck,_ Angel, you need to stop,” Benny groans, his hands curled tight around the back of Castiel’s head, frozen, like he’s not quite sure whether he’s going to push Cas back down on his cock or pull him off completely, “I’ma come if you keep that up, darlin’, and I really wanna come with you inside ‘a me.”

Castiel moans wantonly around Benny’s cockhead, wiggles where he kneels to press against the sofa, seeking out friction for his own erection. Somewhat reluctantly, he pulls all the way off Benny’s cock, giving the slit one last, lingering lick before he speaks. “Didn’t figure you for a bottom.”

Benny’s gravelly laugh reverberates through the room, his thick body shaking and cock jumping with it. “Well now, honey, it depends on the day and the person, but I reckon I could be persuaded to top if that’s what you want.” Thick fingers card through Castiel’s hair, giving a gentle tug when they reach the back of his head. Cas luxuriates in it, mindless of the little whimpers the possessive gesture pulls from his throat.

“C’mon, then,” he manages to grunt out, rising to stand on shaky legs, “bedroom. Now.”

Benny kisses with the same easy confidence he exudes in everything Castiel has seen him do. One of those broad hands curls around his neck, rough and sure, pulling Cas close while the other one caresses his jaw with surprising delicacy. The drag of Benny’s fingertips against Castiel’s perpetual stubble is maddening, featherlight and teasing, and it has him panting for more. Benny’s got him pinned to the wall just outside the bedroom; he’s crowding into Castiel’s personal space until their bodies are flush from knee to chest, and Castiel loves it. Loves how Benny makes him feel _small_ like this, caged in and helpless, as the bear of a man holding him, teasing him with lips and tongue, ruts his bare erection—why bother tucking back in when they’re about to get more naked?—against Castiel’s groin.

“Goddammit,” Castiel reaches between them, wraps his hand around that beautiful dick, and gives it a hard squeeze, “ _kiss_ me, asshole.” Benny just laughs at his demand, low and rough and full of promise, and nuzzles the tip of his nose against Castiel’s.

“That’s it,” Benny purrs, then slides the tip of his tongue along the seam of Castiel’s lips, “make me do what you want. Wanna give you everything you need.” And fuck, Castiel’s vision goes a little hazy at the edges as he gives in, plunging his tongue into Benny’s mouth and laying claim. He leans into the kiss with the full weight of his body, chest pushing against Benny’s until the larger man acquiesces, letting Castiel back him—manhandle him, really—through the door until they’re at the foot of the bed. Benny stumbles when the back of his knees hit the mattress, but then he’s sitting on the bed and pulling Castiel on top of him. Thick fingers card through the back of Castiel’s hair, tugging just enough to send pinpricks of pleasure-pain shooting down Castiel’s spine.

Cas shifts on the bed, bracketing Benny’s thick thighs with his own, one hand fisting Benny’s cock between them as they kiss, wet and messy and absolutely perfect. His own cock, still confined in his increasingly tight jeans, twitches as he rubs his thumb through another spurt of precome at Benny’s slit.

“ _Fuck_ , honey,” Benny coos, dragging his lips from Castiel’s mouth to his nip at his ear, “we need to get a lot more naked. Like yesterday _.”_ And yes _,_ Castiel thinks, that’s the best idea he’s heard in forever. More naked. _Now._ He lets go of Benny’s dick—earning a disgruntled groan that makes him grin—and rises up on his knees so that he can remove his shirt and unbuckle his belt. When he sees that dark flash in Benny’s eyes, Castiel slows down, relishing the naked hunger in the other man’s gaze. He rocks down onto Benny’s lap, feels the wet slide of Benny’s cockhead against his stomach, and why isn’t Benny naked already?

Grunting in frustration, Castiel grabs for the hem of Benny’s faded henley and pulls it up until it’s bunched at Benny’s armpits. “Off, dammit,” he mutters to himself, “off.” Benny chuckles, then leans back and reaches over his head to remove his shirt. Cas watches in mute amazement as more of that gorgeous, thick torso is revealed. Benny’s stomach has a welcoming softness to it, but Castiel can feel the flex and pull of the muscles beneath as he slides his palms up Benny’s sides to rest against his ribcage.

“You’re gorgeous,” Cas murmurs, coming in for another kiss, “absolutely gorgeous.” He slides his thumbs over Benny’s nipples, just the barest hint of pressure, and is rewarded with a delicious hitch in Benny’s breath, a rough but abortive thrust of hips beneath him. Because even though Benny’s substantially larger than he is, Castiel knows his own strength, knows that he can pin the other man down with a squeeze of his own muscular thighs, a firm press of his own hips.

“Castiel,” Benny whines, drawing out the last syllable of his name like a goddamn brat, “c’mon, sugar, gimme something.” Cas smiles down at him, wicked and wanting, as he pushes him down onto his back.

“Of course, handsome.” He nips at Benny’s lush bottom lip one more time, and then starts to slide himself down, mouthing wet kisses along the column of Benny’s throat before stopping to suck a mark into the delicate skin along his collarbone. He’s not usually like this, all possessive and taking charge, just _taking_ what he wants, but it feels good. More than good, he thinks; it feels _right_ to have Benny trembling beneath him, taking only what Castiel gives him even as he begs for more. He nuzzles his face into the soft, sparse hair of Benny’s chest, kissing and nibbling his way to a flat, pink nipple. He flicks it with his tongue so that it starts to harden, takes it between his teeth, and sucks until it’s flushed and swollen; then he does it all again on the other side. All the while, Benny writhes beneath him, squirming and gasping.

“Cas _,”_ Benny moans, bucking his hips so that his cock slides along Castiel’s happy trail, “ _please_.” And, _well_ …manners like that should be rewarded. Castiel draws his tongue down the center of Benny’s torso, sucks a bruise into the soft skin just below Benny’s navel, and then slips his fingers into the waistband of Benny’s boxers where they’ve bunched beneath his balls, and gives a rough tug. “Fuckin’ _finally,_ ” Benny huffs, lifting his hips so that Castiel can pull his pants down those beefy thighs.

Once he’s pulled Benny’s pants off completely, Castiel stands up to wrestle his own skinny jeans down his legs (that’s seriously the _last_ time he takes Balthazar’s fashion advice), taking his boxer briefs down in the same push. And then? Then he just stands there, drinking it all in. It’s quite a sight, this big, beautiful man laid out for him like a goddamn _buffet—_ strong, thick, and naked as the day he was born—and Castiel’s not sure what to do first. Benny’s cock rests against the soft swell of his stomach, flushed and hard and glistening where the head peaks from his foreskin. It’s thick and veiny and visibly twitching from Benny’s arousal, and Castiel _wants_. Wants to feel the heft of it resting on his tongue again, the force of Benny pushing into his throat. Wants to feel it splitting him open and turning him inside out. _Fuck._ It’s been too damn long.

“C’mere, Angel,” Benny rasps, breathless, arching his back and letting his hips do a slow, grinding roll that has Castiel’s mouth watering. And, okay, maybe he stumbles just a bit as he scrambles to crawl back onto the bed, his hands bracketing Benny’s head as he kneels over him. Castiel’s own cock hangs full and heavy between his legs, bobbing as he slinks his way up Benny’s body.

“You still okay with this?” Cas asks, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “I mean, didn’t you, y’know…Dean?”

“Honey, I think you an’ me both know that dog ain’t never gonna hunt.” Benny lets his fingertips graze down Castiel’s side, soft and slow, before grabbing a handful of asscheek and squeezing. “So might as well enjoy ourselves. Whaddya say, Cas? Gonna let me make you forget about our pretty boy for a while?” With that, Benny reaches to brush one finger across the head of Castiel’s dick, slick with precome, and then brings it to his mouth. He licks it off with a wicked grin, and Castiel’s a goddamn goner. He just nods, mutely, and bends to capture Benny’s lips with his own.

This kiss lacks the finesse of the earlier ones, if not the passion. It’s messy and bruising in its force, teeth grazing lips, tongues thrusting and pushing and battling for dominance as they rut against each other, artless and eager. One particularly aggressive thrust sends Castiel’s cock sliding between Benny’s thighs to brush against his perineum and slide between his cheeks. And that sends Benny into overdrive. “Oh fuck, _cher_ , that’s it,” he gasps, “wanna feel you inside me.”

And Castiel is nothing if not a generous lover. He reaches underneath his pillow and grabs his lube, then slides back down to nestle himself between Benny’s legs.

After squeezing some of the thick gel onto his fingers, he teases the puckered flesh of Benny’s asshole. Just the tiniest bit of pressure with the pad of his index finger, spreading the lube around. He chuckles darkly at the breathy little sighs that escape the Cajun man’s lips, at the way he starts to rock his hips in small circles, seeking out more friction against…well, against any part of him.

If you asked him, Castiel couldn’t say where it came from. It’s not like he’s usually this much of a talker in bed, but tonight’s gone so far off the rails of what Castiel’s used to that he just goes with it. “Are you thinking about how good it would feel to have Dean’s cock pushing into this greedy hole, sweetheart? How pretty those green eyes would look, all fuck-drunk, watching as you took his cock like the needy little slut you are?” Benny just whines, and gives a weak thrust of his hips that Cas stops with a firm hand across Benny’s pelvis.

“Stop that.” Benny yelps as Cas taps his hole with two fingers, growling, “I’m going to give you what you need when I think you’re ready for it.” Benny’s dick spurts out a fresh drop of precome, whether in response to the dirty talk or the hole spanking, Cas can’t tell, and it sure as hell doesn’t matter. He licks a messy stripe up the underside of Benny’s cock as he goes back to rubbing little circles around that tight little pucker, adding more pressure as he feels the muscle starting to soften up just a bit. Benny’s practically vibrating beneath him, soft little grunts and moans falling unbidden from his mouth, those muscular thighs tensing as he squirms under Castiel’s touch.

Cas draws it out as long as he can stand, teasing Benny with barely there fingers at his hole and delicate flicks of his tongue across his cockhead, and Benny’s just taking it. His eyes are glassy and unfocused; whatever it is he’s saying—some breathy creole of English and French— isn’t quite intelligible, and Castiel loves it. Loves that this big strong bear of a man is falling apart because of him. He needs to move things along, though, because he needs to be fucking this man _now._

He closes his lips over the crown of Benny’s cock and sucks, hard, at the same time as he breaches his hole with two lubed fingers. Benny howls at it, and holy fuck is it beautiful.

“Look at you,” he coos against Benny’s cock, “is this what you need? To have that greedy little hole stuffed full?” He pumps his fingers fast and rough into that tight heat, scissoring them to stretch the muscles clenching around him. Benny’s a trembling mess beneath him, his hips rocking against Castiel’s hand, his thighs twitching as they squeeze Castiel’s shoulders.

“C’mon, Cas, get your dick _in_ me,” Benny grunts, breathless and wanton as he grinds down onto Castiel’s fingers. “ _Now_.”

Cas grazes his bottom teeth up the underside of Benny’s shaft until the other man hisses in a sinful combination of pleasure and pain, and then slides his mouth completely off Benny’s cock.

“Ah ah ah, you don’t get to decide when I fuck you, _hoath_.” He massages Benny’s prostate with the pad of his middle finger, relentless and unyielding, lapping up the fresh pearl of precome that bursts from his cock.

Benny whines in response, wordless and throaty, and the sound of it triggers something primal deep inside Cas. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself, and has to reach down and grip the base of his dick to keep from losing control. As he pulls his fingers free, Benny whimpers, his sweet little hole clenching around nothing. Cas pauses to look up the length of Benny’s body, flushed and heaving in gulps of air, and he’s just awestruck.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, his breath ghosting along the base of Benny’s cock, and in response, he hears a broken, breathy “Please, _cher,_ please.”

Castiel crawls up that beautiful, thick body again, relishing the slide of his own weeping cock against Benny’s as he reaches into his nightstand for a condom. As he’s fumbling with the wrapper, Benny surges up to capture his mouth, large hands cupping his jaw and pulling him down. “Easy,” Cas chuckles into the messy embrace, into how Benny ruts up against him, “you gotta be patient if you want my cock, sweetheart. You do still want it, don’t you?”

“Y-yeah, yes, come on, honey, give it to me,” Benny babbles, panting and squirming all pretty beneath him as he slicks himself up and slides the condom on. “Please, Cas, need you…please get inside me.”

He teases Benny’s hole with the head of his dick, rubbing up and down until the other man groans his frustration, and only then does he push forward until he slips past Benny’s rim.

“Mmm, that’s good.” Cas takes a few moments to let Benny acclimate to the stretch, to let himself adjust to the velvet-smooth heat enveloping his cock, and then begins tiny little thrusts to work himself in deeper. Benny’s gripping him like a vise, and it takes all his resolve not to give in to the urge to just plow into him, to fuck him hard and fast and rough.

“I ain’t gonna break, darlin’,” Benny drawls, thrusting his hips to urge Cas in deeper, “need ya to give it to me harder’n that. Come on, honey, fuck me like ya mean it.” He quirks an eyebrow and throws Cas a flirty grin, offering up a challenge that he knows Castiel won’t refuse.

“Yeah? You want it hard?” Cas pulls all the way out, then slides his cockhead up and down along Benny’s ass. “You sure about that?” Benny’s eyes darken at the question, pink tongue darting out to wet his lips. Cas leans down and licks into Benny’s mouth, soft and gentle, for just a moment, before rising back up on his hands, and sinking all the way inside in one intense push.

“Better?” He punctuates his question with a rough thrust of his hips that has his balls smacking against Benny’s ass and rips a feral growl out of the burly man’s throat. When Benny takes his bottom lip between his teeth and nods up, mute and dazed, Cas, grinning like the cat who ate the canary, starts to fuck him in earnest. Benny wraps his legs around Castiel’s waist, heels digging into the meat of his ass. And then he reaches both hands up to grab onto the headboard for leverage so that he can push himself harder onto Cas’ cock. With each thrust, Benny looses a primal grunt that has Castiel ready to explode.

“You gonna come for me, _hoath_?” he asks, loosely wrapping a sweat-slick fist around Benny’s dick. “Gonna show me how pretty you are when you come?” He’s fucking into Benny so hard that it moves Benny’s cock in his hand, and he knows he’s babbling like a goddamn fool, but fuck it. Exactly zero brain cells are available for him to be even the slightest bit embarrassed, not when Benny feels so good beneath him and around him and _fuck._

“Wanna see you make a mess all over yourself ‘cause you’ve got an ass full of cock.” Benny’s movements beneath him become erratic as he tries simultaneously to thrust into Castiel’s fist and to grind down onto his cock. His eyes are unfocused as he squirms and writhes; sweat pools at the dip between his collarbones. Cas can’t help himself; he leans down and licks it up, drags his tongue up the straining tendon in Benny’s neck, and nips at his earlobe.

”Bet Dean would blow his load if he could see you like this.”

Benny’s eyes flutter closed at that, and within seconds, his whole body is tensing up as he comes, thick white spurts shooting up onto his belly, his chest, barely missing his chin. It’s mesmerizing to watch, to see Benny just lose himself like that, to see that beautiful, thick body as it tenses and releases. And between that sight and the rhythmic contractions around his dick, Cas is a goner. He grabs hold of Benny’s hips, fingernails digging into the soft flesh so hard it turns white, and just pounds into him, fucking hard and fast and deep until he’s cresting on his own climax. His hips stutter as he fills the condom with his own release, dizzy with the pleasure of it, still fucking into Benny for all he’s worth as he rides through their aftershocks. After they finally subside, he slumps down, exhausted, until necessity requires that he move. He reluctantly reaches down to deal with the condom on his softening dick.

When he comes back, Benny smiles dreamily at him and pulls him in for a kiss. “God _damn_ , Angel,” he chuckles against Castiel’s mouth, and thoroughly sated, Cas has to agree. Goddamn, indeed. He’s not sure how long they stay like that, trading lazy kisses all tangled up together, mindless of the sweat and come cooling between them.

“You got quite a mouth on you, darlin’,” Benny teases, nosing against Castiel’s cheek as it flushes, and pressing his lips to his temple, “I like it.” Something in Castiel’s gut settles at the reassurance, and he allows Benny to manhandle him a bit, turning him onto his side so that Castiel is the little spoon.

It’s been too long since he’s had _this_ , too, the cuddling part, and Cas is definitely a slut for it. And, to be honest, didn’t expect it from a quick fuck with Benny Lafitte, of all people. But here he is; here _they_ are, and, well. It’s nice. And surprisingly not awkward. He sighs as he snuggles in closer, relishing in the damp heat of Benny’s breath on the back of his neck, the strong arms holding him tight.

“You can stay if you like,” he says, small and uncertain.

“Of course, _cher_ ,” Benny kisses the back of his neck, nuzzles his face into Castiel’s hair. “Now let’s get some shut eye.”

Cas allows himself to be soothed by the steady movement of Benny’s chest against his back, the way his breath evens out as he settles into sleep. So he just slept with Dean’s other best friend. There’s no need to panic about it. Yet.

Just enjoy the afterglow, he tells himself, shortly before drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _hoath_ \- "lover, worshipper, devotee" according to Lingojam.com


	5. Til it's gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens the morning (and beyond) after the guys meet at the Roadhouse. Dean worries and maybe panics a little and pines; Cas enjoys himself; Benny...has a much better idea of the big picture than anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Cinderella, "Don't Know What You Got"

Dean hasn’t heard from Cas in over twenty-four hours.

It’s not like it’s _that_ unusual, Dean has to remind himself. Cas is just like this when he’s working on something big. He barely left his apartment while he was finishing his dissertation. Hell, if Dean hadn’t taken it on himself to stock his kitchen with granola bars and those godawful protein shakes Sam suggested, Cas probably would’ve worked himself into starvation.

This is just how Cas _is._ Only this time, it sure feels different.

Dean pulls out his phone, and scrolls up to the last response he got from Cas:

** Cas **  
  
**Friday** 11:15 AM  
**Cas:** See you tonight, Dean.  
**Friday** 10:07 PM  
**Dean:** lmk when u get home, ok?  
**Friday** 10:37 PM  
**Dean:** Hello?  
**Dean:** r u gonna answer?

Cas isn’t exactly a heavyweight with alcohol, Dean reasons, so he probably just passed out when he got home. Especially if he drank all of that stupid neon drink Benny brought for him. Hell, he’s probably still sleeping it off. There’s absolutely nothing to read into, he tells himself, lacking even the slightest conviction, and feels a weird lump forming in his gut.

He decides against sending yet another message for Cas to ignore, and switches to his message chain with Benny. Who he’d left with Cas at the Roadhouse. The lump in his gut starts to grow. They’d looked so _cozy_ when he left last night with Ang—no, Amb…that blonde chick. He remembers how Benny was just _touching_ Cas, how Cas was looking at Benny with that eye crinkle and that adorable gummy smile, and something about that just doesn’t sit right. 

It’s not supposed to be like that. Benny and Cas…they’re—they're not _theirs_ , they’re _his._ Which, objectively, is ridiculous. Dean’s not a goddamn child, and these are _people,_ for fuck’s sake, not toys, and it’s not like he’s got any sort of claim over either of ‘em.

Dean stares down at the screen, then starts and deletes seven or eight iterations of the same message:

** Benny Lafitte **  
  
**Saturday** 11:49 AM  
**Dean:** u get the lightweight home safe last nite?  
**Dean:** thx, btw

He spends too much time watching to see the READ message show up, to see those stupid little twinkly dots to show Benny’s working on an answer for him. But a watched pot never boils and all that, so Dean tosses his phone onto the counter, grabs his keys, and heads out for a drive. Some quality time with Baby and the open road will help clear his mind.

* * *

“Oh fuck, yeah, _there_ —” Castiel goes nonverbal as Benny’s cock drags against his prostate again. And again. After a particularly forceful thrust, his arms give out, and he falls onto his chest, shifting the angle so that somehow that massive cock plowing into him gets even deeper. Cas arches his back, elbows digging into the mattress so that he can push back into it.

 _Fuck_.

Benny’s got a death grip on his hips, and Cas is pretty sure his fingernails are gonna leave ten little crescent moons lingering in his flesh for days to come. Fuck, it feels good, so goddamn good to be _taken_ like this, to be _used_ , hard and fast and desperate. The springs of Castiel’s bed squeak and groan beneath them, the whole room echoing with the sounds of sex, of wet skin slapping together, of the headboard thumping its rhythmic tattoo against the wall, of panting and shouted obscenities and endearments.

Cas likes it when Benny calls hims _cher_. He _really_ likes it when Benny calls him Angel. And as the burly Cajun builds toward climax, both endearments fall more frequently from his lips, an obscene litany that Cas feels vibrating throughout his body. “Yeah, _cher?_ You like that? Want me to give it to ya harder, Angel?”

With each powerful thrust, Benny pushes him closer to his own orgasm, one punctuated with Castiel’s wordless grunts, as his own dick throbs, untouched, a long line of precome leaking down to the mattress. He’s a goddamn needy mess about it, his dick drooling and every fiber of his being overwhelmed by sensation, as he’s split open by one of the prettiest dicks he’s ever had the pleasure to _see_ , let along ride.

“Ahhh—“ he groans, reaching to touch himself, only to get distracted by Benny’s cock hitting his prostate, over and over and over. If Benny keeps this up, Cas is gonna come without touching himself at all, and _that’s_ certainly something for posterity. He’s already so close, so goddamn motherfucking _close_. The tension coils around the base of his spine like a snake getting ready to strike, and he can feel the anticipation of it all the way down in his toes.

Benny must sense it, must know Cas is close, because he releases his grip on one of Castiel’s hips and runs a broad palm up his back to card his fingers through Castiel’s messy hair. He gives it a harsh tug, and that’s it. Castiel’s vision goes a little blurry at the edges as he comes, white ribbons spurting against his stomach and onto the sheets beneath him.

He’s still riding out the aftershocks, his hole throbbing and clenching around Benny’s cock, when Benny starts to lose his own rhythm, folds himself over Castiel’s back to suck and lick and nip at the join of his neck and shoulder, and with just a few more erratic thrusts Cas feels Benny explode inside him, his cock growing impossibly harder just before he starts pulsing deep inside Cas.

Benny rests his head between Castiel’s shoulder blades, both of them sweaty and sticky and panting, until necessity dictates he pull out. And yeah, maybe Cas whimpers a little at the loss of that fullness, but then Benny is rolling them both onto their sides and teasing at his rim with a single fingertip, pressing soft little kisses over the hickeys starting to blossom on Castiel’s neck and shoulder.

“Think I got a little carried away there, _cher_ ,” he says, voice low and gruff, before mouthing gently over the bruises. “Ain’t nothin’ that can’t be covered by a collared shirt, though.” And then he’s nuzzling his chin over Castiel’s shoulder and wrapping him up in those big arms, and Cas doesn’t give even a single solitary fuck about whether or not he’s got a hickey at work tomorrow. Thank fuck for research sabbaticals.

“S’okay,” Cas mumbles, more than a little sleepy now that his heart rate has started to come down from the wakeup sex. “Wanna nap a little longer?” He wiggles his ass against Benny’s now-flaccid cock, which earns him a hiss and throaty growl.

“As long as you promise me another round when we get up,” Benny lilts at him, and fuck, that accent is almost as pretty as Benny is. Castiel loses himself in the moment, and in a matter of minutes, Benny’s warm breath against his neck has lulled him into a sound sleep.

* * *

Time heals all wounds.

And by “heals all wounds,” Dean thinks, he means “makes it easier to repress shit he doesn’t want to deal with.”

The more days pass between that shitshow of a hookup with the cute bartender and the present, the easier it is for Dean to forget all about it, to convince himself that he hadn’t called out his best friend’s name while he was making out with her.

It’s easy for things to get back to normal when Cas goes back to holing up in some dank dark corner of the university library to work on his book, ignoring everyone and everything except for the occasionally befuddled reply to one of Dean’s messages. For someone so fucking brilliant, Cas could still be so damn clueless about memes. It’s kind of adorable.

In a completely, totally platonic way, that is.

Dean will be glad when he finally finishes that stupid manuscript. It feels like he hasn’t hung out with Cas in forever, and he misses the nerd.

At least Benny’s still around to pick up the slack.

“Your turn to rack ‘em up, brotha,” Benny calls over his shoulder, on the way to pick up another round at the bar, “I’ll be back in a flash.”

So maybe Dean had let out a girly little yelp when he saw that familiar tangle of blonde hair and fuck-me red lips behind the bar, and maybe he’d refused to go anywhere near her.

“Take it that’s somethin’ that you won’t be repeating?” Benny had asked, single eyebrow quirked and a knowing smirk on his lips, as he’d nodded in her direction.

“Yeah, it was…uh, definitely a one and done kinda situation,” Dean had replied, wishing he could will the flush in his cheeks to go away.

“Shame,” Benny’d tutted, with an idle shake of his head. “Such a pretty little thing, too.”

Thankfully, Benny was a good bro, even if he did chuckle a little at Dean’s obvious distress, taking it on himself not only to get all their drinks, but to pay for them, as well.

A couple hours and several rounds later, they’re laughing into the dregs of their drinks, about…fuck if Dean can remember what it was that started it, but it’s still got him cackling so hard he’s about to fall off his barstool.

“Didn’t realize how much I needed some quality Dean, _cher_ ,” Benny says, loud and boisterous as he slams his empty glass on the table. “I’ma have to tell our conscientious little angel I didn’t miss him at all.”

His tongue heavy in his throat, Dean just stares across the little table.

“W-whaddya mean?” he manages to ask, which is a victory in itself, what with his mouth suddenly feeling like it’s packed full of sand. “You been talkin’ to Cas?”

Something in his stomach drops, like he’s on a freefall ride at some cheap carnival.

Benny watches him, silent, considering. Those blue eyes, though not unkind, bore holes into his skull. “Well, yeah,” he begins, talking slow and enunciating carefully, like Dean’s some kinda toddler. “We’ve stayed in touch pretty regular since the last time we all hung out.”

“In touch, huh.” Dean’s not really looking at anything as he repeats the words. Doesn’t quite know why his insides feel so tight all of a sudden. “Oh.”

_Get it together, Winchester._

“Like, y’know—“ Dean looks away, can’t _not_ look away, not while Benny’s watching him like that, all concerned and tentative. _Shit._ His eyes lock on a broken peanut shell under the booth next to them, just beyond the reach of where a woman idly taps her foot to the music. If she were to move that foot just an inch to her left, the shell would crunch beneath her toes.

“You mean, you two…” he swallows thickly, lets the question fade into the background noise of the bar, because he doesn’t really want to hear the answer.

Time dilates around them. Music plays; people laugh and dance and drink and play; and yet, suddenly the world feels smaller.

“It’s not like it’s anything too serious,” Benny offers, as though he needs to justify himself to Dean.

 _Goddammit_.

Dean feels the surge of anger bubbling up in his chest and hates himself for it, because it’s not like they need his blessing or permission or anything. And then that anger is turning into something else, something colder and deeper, and Dean is pretty sure that feeling is gonna suffocate him. 

_Fuck_.

“Just a way t’blow off steam, _cher_. That’s all.”

The woman slides her foot, knocking the peanut shell deeper into the darkness under the booth. Dean blinks at the space where the shell had been, his eyes suddenly burning and overfull. It’s not supposed to be like this, dammit. It wasn’t...him and Cas, they—it’s...god he can’t even finish the muddled thought. He takes a too-shaky breath in, molds his face into a neutral mask, and wills himself to look back up at Benny.

“Good for y’all, man,” he booms, though his voice rings hollow. He gives Benny good old-fashioned, friendly pat on the arm. So what if it’s a little on the hard side? “Been tellin’ Cas for fuckin’ ever that he needs to get laid.” He grins at his friend, but he can’t quite force it to reach his eyes.

“Dean.” Benny pins him in place with that rumble of his name, and gives him a long, considering look. “You gotta problem with this, just say the word, brotha. Ain’t neither one of us gonna put a piece a’ tail over you. It’s not like that.”

“Nah, man,” Dean scrubs a hand through his hair, feeling his cheeks heat up again, “it ain’t my place to tell either one of y’all who to fuck. It’s—“ again he finds himself struggling for words, because he doesn’t have a problem with it, _shouldn’t_ have a problem with, anyway.It’s not like he’s got any stake over either of them, after all, and oh yeah, he reminds himself, he don’t swing that way.

 _Except maybe you do,_ that little asshole voice in the back of his head whispers, all smug and bitchy and sounding an awful lot like his know-it-all moose of a baby brother. Dean shakes his head, just a slight little tilt and back, just enough, he hopes, to reset all the emotions swirling around his insides like a goddamn snow globe.

Across the table—though it may as well be a whole ocean away—Benny’s way too silent, still, and it’s too goddamn much. It feels like pity, and the fuck does he need Benny’s pity for, anyway?

“So…uh, I should probably, um…” His voice cracks and Dean hates it, hates the way it makes him sound so goddamn broken.

“You gonna be alright?” Benny asks, sliding his hand across the table. Dean jumps at the feel of that large palm closing around his forearm, trembles from the delicate slide of Benny’s thumb up and down along the sensitive skin stretched taut over the tendons of his inner wrist. And yeah, it’s too damn much; Dean has to blink rapidly to stave off the tears, and fuck if his nose doesn’t decide right now is the time to get all snotty. He sniffles, and then does his best imitation of a smile as he catches Benny’s gaze with his own, watery one.

“Don’t worry about me, man,” he says, with as much bravado as he can muster, “I’ll just have to find someone to occupy my time when y’all are having fun.” Benny smiles at that, but it’s about as hollow as Dean feels. “Anyway, I gotta head out. Early mornin’ and all that.”

“You sure?” Benny nods, eyebrows raised in question.

“Yeah, I’m good, brother. Just tell Cas I miss his ugly mug if you see him before I do, ‘kay?”

Benny opens his arms and Dean steps into them for a hug, patting him roughly on the back. “Don’t be such a stranger, Dean.” When he speaks, Benny’s breath is a hot rush against Dean’s ear, and suddenly Dean’s gotta get away, like yesterday.

“You got it.” One last pat, and Dean wriggles free. He doesn’t look back as he walks to the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello y'all! I hope you're enjoying this as we go along. Things are getting closer to a confrontation, and it will probably be intense and very angsty for a bit after this one. So buckle up, and remember, kudos and comments make my day!


	6. Certified Quality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the risk of sounding redundant... Benny and Cas bang. Again. That's it, that's the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Beyonce, "Baby Boy" 
> 
> I'll be honest with y'all. This chapter was _supposed_ to be pretty plot heavy, but the characters did not let that happen. Oops.

** Castiel  
**  
  
**Friday** 10:37 PM  
**Cas:** Finished earlier than anticipated. Can you stop by?   
**Friday** 10:41 PM  
**Benny:** u got it   
**Friday** 11:27 PM  
**Benny:** omw

Fucking _finally._

Cas is on him as soon as he crosses the threshold, only vaguely aware of it as Benny wrestles the door closed behind him.

“Missed you,” he pants into the flesh of Benny’s neck between open mouthed kisses, his teeth grazing along the tendon flexing beneath the skin, before settling into suck a mark just beneath the bolt of his jaw. The wiry hairs of Benny’s beard tickle and scratch the delicate skin of his upper lip, but all it does is make Cas want more, _now._

“Hold yer horses there, Angel,” Benny says, sounding way too calm and collected for Castiel’s liking, especially when he’s got those big hands curling around the caps of Cas’ shoulders and is pushing him away. Cas growls his frustration and switches tactics, sliding a hand into the front pocket of Benny’s jeans and wiggling his fingers against the beginnings of the bear’s erection. “Now that’s not fair, honey.” The hitch in Benny’s breath sends a satisfied little zing down Castiel’s spine.

“Please, Benny?” Cas asks, pleading softly, because it’s been a goddamn _day_ and he needs this. Really fucking needs it. Bad enough to accost Benny at the door in nothing but a robe and a pair of boxers.

Something dark flickers across Benny’s face, but it passes so quickly that Cas can’t be certain he didn’t imagine it. That it wasn’t just a trick of the light. Besides, he’s had enough practice at getting Benny out his head by now that it won’t take long to get his favorite sexy teddy bear to forget his worries. He drops down to his knees, careless of the jolt it sends through his joints, and pushes his face into Benny’s groin, mouthing idly at the hard bulge behind his zipper as he tugs the button of his fly open.

Benny runs his thick fingers through Castiel’s hair and tugs, just this side of too rough, so that Cas is forced to look up at him. “You’re a goddamn menace, y’know that?” he tuts, shaking his head as he draws in a stuttering breath.

Grinning slyly, Cas noses along Benny’s zipper, careful to keep his gaze up at those beautiful baby blues the whole time, before taking the pull between his teeth and drawing it down. “Been a tough day _,”_ he admits, bolstered by the way Benny’s eyes are dilated, by how that broad chest is heaving from the shallow, ragged breaths Benny’s struggling so hard to deepen, “need to burn off some tension.” Cas takes the tip of Benny’s cock, straining behind his briefs, between his lips, flicks his tongue against the tip. “Please, _hoath?_ ”

Cas knows he’s playing dirty, knows that Benny goes a little brain-melty when he brings out the Enochian. The endearment pulls a dark, rumbling groan from somewhere deep inside the Cajun, and Cas wants to live in that sound, wants to wrap himself up in it like a blanket. He nuzzles his whole face against Benny’s groin, wrapping his arms around those thick thighs so that he can slide his palms up Benny’s hamstrings to rest on his ass. “Please?”

“Not fair, _cher_ ,” Benny breathes as he lets his head knock back against the door. “Let’s take this into the bedroom.” He slips his hands under Castiel’s arms and pulls him up to stand, then slides his hands down to squeeze Cas’ ass before squatting and just _lifting_ him up. Benny may be big, but Castiel is _not_ a small man. The display of brute strength makes his dick twitch and punches a feral groan from his throat. He wants to respond, but words just aren’t happening at the moment, so a frantic nod of his head will have to suffice.

“I’ma take real good care of you tonight, sweetheart, don’t you worry ‘bout that.” Benny grins wolfishly, and Cas can’t help but crash his own lips into Benny’s to kiss that smirk off that gorgeous face.

The trip to the bedroom is a fumbling mess, what with Cas attacking Benny’s mouth, rocking his hips and squirming in Benny’s arms, totally distracting him from where he’s walking, but so what? So _fucking_ what? He needs it, the contact, the heat of Benny’s body against his own.

“What’s got into you tonight?” It takes Benny a few tries to get the question out because Cas just can’t stop licking into his mouth and nipping his bottom lip.

“Talk later,” Cas pants, pushing Benny’s shirt up to bunch around his armpits, “fuck me _now_.”

Benny just laughs, then drops Cas onto the bed. “Whatever you want, _cher._ ”

“Scootch up.” Benny smacks him on the hip, just this side of too much, and it sends a shiver up Castiel’s spine. “That’s right, darlin’, up you get, gotta make room for me, dontcha?” Cas nods as he scrambles to obey, his movements awkward and fumbling as he backs his way toward the headboard.

“Good boy,” Benny murmurs, then drops a closed-mouth kiss to the inside of Castiel’s left knee. Something that sweet and chaste shouldn’t make his dick throb, but it does, and Cas can’t control the whimper that fights its way out of his mouth.

But thank fucking Christ that mouth doesn’t stay so chaste. Cas is practically vibrating when Benny slides those plush lips up his inner thigh, occasionally grazing the sensitive skin with his tongue, nipping and sucking until Castiel squirms beneath him. _Fuck fucking fuck_. The tease of it all, the softness of that tongue laving the sting of the bites, it’s just… _fuck,_ it’s a lot. His skin is on fire, heating up exponentially with each drag of that coarse beard against his thigh, each mark sucked into his skin.

“Benny,” he whines, as his hips gyrate without his express consent, “ _please_.” He trusts that Benny will fill in the gaps, since Cas is not sure exactly what it is he’s begging for.

And holy _fuck_ does he ever. Once his mouth reaches the hem of Castiel’s boxers, the bear turns feral, grabbing at his hips, tugging the fabric down so rough it tears, but who the fuck cares because then Benny’s face is pressing into the line where his thigh meets pelvis, his breath a hot tease against the base of Castiel’s cock, his balls, and it’s all Cas can do not to grab Benny’s head and put it exactly where he wants. Granted, that would require more brain capacity than Cas is capable of right now.

It’s a good thing Benny’s got things under control.

“Yeah, _cher,_ ” Benny coos as he mouths along the seam of Cas’ balls, “I gotcha, baby boy. Lemme make you feel real good.” Then he sweeps the flat of his tongue up Castiel’s entire length before flicking it back and forth across the frenulum, wraps his lips around the head and sucks. When Cas tries to thrust deeper into his mouth, Benny pushes him down, grazes his teeth along the top of his cock as he pulls off. Cas hisses, whether out of pain or pleasure, his brain can’t quite make out right now.

“Behave,” Benny growls at him, then presses an entirely too gentle kiss the base of Castiel’s cock. He lets his tongue tease along that seam of Cas’ balls, all soft and sweet, and Cas wants to scream that’s not enough, that he needs _more_ and _harder;_ and before the words can travel from his brain to his lips, Benny is manhandling him, rough hands grabbing at the backs of his thighs and spreading them wide as he pushes Castiel’s knees toward his chest. Cas grunts at the suddenness of it, reaches for his feet in an impromptu Happy Baby pose while Benny spread his cheeks apart and then stops and _looks_ at him.

Something swoops deep in Castiel’s gut at the intensity of it, and he’s trembling pretty much everywhere as he watches Benny, fierce blue eyes just staring him, gaze so intense Cas can’t help but tense up at it, his asshole and dick both twitching. Benny licks his lips as he slides his gaze up Cas’ body until their eyes lock. And then, well _holymotherfuckingshitgoddamn._

Benny’s gaze doesn’t falter as he drags his tongue over the puckered flesh of Castiel’s hole. The vague trembling has turned into something more like a wildfire, and Cas can’t keep it up, not with the pleasure coiling around his spine and shooting through his nerves and with Benny’s eyes on him like _that_ while he’s rimming Cas within an inch of his life. Cas breaks first, throws his head back and groans into the next swipe of Benny’s tongue, becomes nothing but a quivering mass of nerve-endings alight with each flick, each wiggle of that sinful tongue.

Yep, he admits defeat; he loses this round of ass-eating chicken because _holy fucking god Benny’s_ _mouth._ Cas is panting now, breath coming in ragged gulps, his abs clenching and hips rolling as he gives himself over to…to whatever the fuck it is Benny’s doing with his mouth and lips and breath and fucking _hell_ his teeth? The fuck if Cas is able to rub two brain cells together at this point, not beyond _BennyMouthGood._

Castiel doesn’t know which way is up, can’t say for certain how long they’ve been at it, Benny driving him right to the edge and then backing off, sometimes fucking him with that glorious tongue, sometimes dragging it around his hole, and others just making the sloppiest, most lurid sounds as he kisses and sucks and licks. Cas is pretty sure he’s died and gone to heaven or some reasonable facsimile, and if Benny doesn’t get that beautiful thick cock inside him _now…_ fuck it, _something_ could happen.

The rumble of Benny’s laugh tears through the fog in his head, bringing Castiel back to himself enough to realize that Benny’s talking to him, _laughing_ at him, even. Because…because _oh,_ that weird, throaty incantation filling the room is coming from him. _How long have I been babbling in Enochian?_ He gives his head a shake, remembering that has the capability to speak English, and switches it up.

“Fuck me fuck me fuck me _please,_ Benny, need it _need you._ ”

“Jesus, fuck _cher_.” Benny’s voice is low and dark, his lips slick and shiny as he leans over to the nightstand and grabs a condom. “Yer gonna be the death of me.”

“Not before you get your dick inside me.” Cas sits up and scrabbles at Benny’s chest, his stomach, his shoulders, anywhere he can reach.

“Honey, you know that ain’t making things go any faster,” Benny chuckles, elbowing one of Castiel’s hands out his way as he slides the condom down his shaft. “You wanna get fucked, you gotta be just a little patient for me, yeah?” He slides one of those big fists down his cock, and Cas is transfixed; his mouth waters just thinking about it. He nods, mute, as he watches Benny jerk himself, slow and lazy.

“That’s better, baby boy.” Benny ghosts his lips over Castiel’s, then eases him down onto his back. “Now hang on to the bars up there, ‘kay, and lemme take care of you.”

Castiel rakes his gaze up Benny’s body to look the larger man in the eyes.

“You ready for me?”

Cas nods again, unable to form words, still too wound up, arousal thrumming under his skin at somewhere closer to a rolling boil than low simmer. He’s on a precipice, caught up in the electricity of the moment, already operating on sheer need and now bowled over by tenderness. _Let me take care you. Let me take care you. Let me take care you._ It’s…overwhelming, is what it is.

Benny pushes into him, slow and gentle and almost teasing, and it’s still too much. Cas is already on the verge of falling, tumbling headlong into the abyss, and Benny hasn’t even bottomed out yet. He squirms underneath the bear’s weight, abs clenching and hips rolling, wriggling until Benny grabs hold of his hips, grip tight enough to bruise, and _pulls_. Pulls Castiel the rest of the way onto his cock, splitting him open and punching something between a purr and a howl from deep within Castiel’s throat.

_"Noib uml, hoath, noib uml kures!”_

Benny’s eyes darken even more at Castiel’s babbling, those pretty lips curling into an almost sadist snarl of a smile. He pulls almost all the way out, and then gives a powerful thrust, grunting, “Yeah, Angel? You like that?”

Like it? Of course he does. Castiel’s knuckles are white where his fingers are wrapped tight around the bars of the bed frame; his thighs tremble from where he’s wrapped his legs around Benny’s waist, trying to pull him even deeper into himself. The head of Benny’s cock alternates between slamming into his prostate and slowly dragging against it every few thrusts, and Castiel may have forgotten his first three languages, because when he opens his mouth, nothing but wordless syllables seem to make it out.

It’s all Castiel can do to nod and hang on.

His orgasm doesn’t hit him by surprise, per se, because it’s been bubbling up close to the surface ever since Benny got his mouth on Castiel’s ass. But still, it manages to catch him off guard, because once again he finds himself tipped over the edge without a single touch to his dick. Benny Lafitte must be the fucking Prostate Whisperer or something, because _holy motherfucking christ._ Castiel tries to shout out a…warning, an announcement or something, but words still aren’t on the agenda as it takes him over. His eyes roll back into their sockets, his whole body tenses in anticipation in the split second before it hits, and then he’s fucking soaring on it. He can feel it all the way down to his toes as he comes, shooting thick and hot onto his chest.

“God _damn,_ honey,” Benny sputters, breathless, as Cas spasms around his cock, his punishing rhythm faltering. But only for a few beats, and then he’s fucking Cas through his aftershocks, chasing his own orgasm with renewed fervor as Castiel floats in that liminal space between orgasm and afterglow.

“Want your come, _hoath._ Need it. Give it to me, please _please_.” Cas isn’t certain that he’s actually speaking out loud until Benny pulls out and tugs the condom off. “Yes, mine, _mine_ ,” Cas growls as Benny climbs up his body and feeds Castiel his cock. He tastes like sweat and lube and latex, but Cas doesn’t give a shit as he swallows him down, massages the underside of Benny’s shaft with his tongue, hollows his cheeks and sucks.

“Fuck, _fuck,_ I’ma come—“ Castiel reaches his head up to take Benny even deeper, the head of his cock pushing into Castiel’s throat as he starts to come. Cas swallows it all down, greedy for every last drop, relishing the weight of Benny’s dick in his mouth for as long as he can, and makes a disappointed little whine when, shuddering, Benny starts to pull out. Chuckling, Benny takes hold of his face with one of those bear paws he calls hands, thumb stroking along the stubbled edge of Castiel’s jaw.

“Now, now, none of that, baby boy,” Benny teases, “y’know it ain’t gone for good.”

Cas manages a sleepy smile up at the other man. “Thanks, Benny. Needed that,” he slurs.

“I’d reckon so.” Benny runs his fingertips up Castiel’s arms. “You did so good, sugar. Let’s put your arms down now, yeah?” Cas feels large fingers prying his own loose from the headboard, then slowly pulling them down by his sides. _That feels better_ , he thinks, muzzy and fuck drunk.

“You stayin’ tonight?”

For the briefest of moments, Benny’s face clouds into something unreadable before opening into his typical post-coital grin. _Must have been a shadow._ “Of course, _cher_ ,” Benny purrs as he wraps Castiel up into his big, strong arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enochian translations from    
>  [A Passable Enochian Translator](https://lingojam.com/APassableEnochianTranslator)   
> 
> 
>   * noib: yes
>   * uml: more
>   * kures: now
>   * hoath: lover
> 



	7. Holiday Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean calls in reinforcements, and Cas gets worrying news.
> 
> A very brief a chapter (a chapterlet, if you will) that hints at feelings and future complications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! This week's installment, coming a day early, is just a bit of a teaser, I'm afraid, because _'tis the season_ and all that. But I didn't want to leave anyone hanging for the next chapter. Apologies for the lack of smut in this little chapter.

“Just…I don’t wanna get into it, okay? Just forget I said anything.” Dean can feel the burn in his cheeks, hot and insistent, his eyes stinging, heavy with the weight of unshed tears. “Please, Sammy?”

“But _Dean_.” The worry is thick in Sam’s voice, and even through the phone Dean can tell he’s making one of those pitiful sad puppy faces. “I can be there in-“ Dean can hear just a bit of a muffled conversation, and fuck if that ain’t embarrassing to think about Samantha telling his fiancee about Dean having goddamn _feelings_ to contend with. “Alright, I can be there in a couple hours.”

“Look, Sammy, I don’t _need_ …” he starts, but there’s no real fight to his words. It’s been a while since Sam’s come back to town, after all, and he _does_ miss his Sasquatch of a little brother. Dean lets out a breath he didn’t even notice he was holding. “Yeah, alright. I’ll make up the couch for you.”

“Awesome,” Sam chirps. “See ya soon, jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean jibes back, fond and automatic, before lowering his voice to barely more than a whisper. “And, uh, thanks, Sammy. Drive safe, okay?”

When they get off the phone, Dean just sits there, dazed, watching as his phone returns to the lock screen. Cas’ blue eyes stare back at him, head cocked to the side in that adorable “I don’t understand that reference” head tilt, and Dean feels something clench in his gut. A deep, sucking void pulling at his insides so hard that he fears he’s gonna implode.

_What if he’s lost him? Lost_ both _of them?_

He collapses under the weight of it, and at last, the tears break loose, burning hot trails as they slip down his cheeks.

* * *

“What do you mean, _Dean knows?_ ”

“Calm down, honey, it ain’t the end of the world.”

_Tell that to my heart rate_ , Castiel can’t help but think. Of course, something would have to happen to mess it up, to complicate this…this _thing_ he and Benny have going between them. It’s…good, is what it is. Comforting and comfortable and it just _works._ Or at least it _had_ worked, before this.

“Why did you tell him?” He casts an accusing glare down at Benny, who’s still sleep rumpled, resting both hands underneath the back of his head as he gives Castiel a considering look.

Benny quirks an eyebrow, rakes his gaze down Castiel’s naked torso and back up before speaking. “You ashamed a’me, _cher?_ ” He’s taunting him, Castiel _knows_ he’s taunting him, but it still hits like a punch to the gut.

“It’s…I mean, uh...you _know—“_ Cas stumbles over his words as he attempts to back pedal, because that’s _not_ what he meant, and goddammit, Benny knows that. The big old stupid lug is fucking _smiling_ at him and that’s just not playing fair.

Castiel takes in another shaky breath, draws his bottom lip between his teeth, and tries to start again. “You know I’m not very good at,” he pauses, tasting his words carefully before they leave his mouth, “interpersonal relationships. I can’t—he’s just such an important part of...” He leaves the thought hanging in the air, unfinished, and casts his gaze down toward the bit of the duvet poking out from beneath a tangle of sheets. There’s a loose thread dangling from the corner.

“Look at me, Castiel.” Thick fingers slide beneath his jaw, and then he feels himself being moved, Benny’s gentle grip guiding his chin, positioning his face so that all he can see is the concern painting the bear’s face. “What, exactly, are you afraid of here?”

“I don’t want to lose what I’ve got.” His tongue feels so heavy in his throat as he struggles to swallow around it. “With either of you.”

Benny’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and before he knows just what’s going on, Castiel is caught up in the bear’s embrace.

“We’ll just have to figure things out, alright, _cher_?”


	8. Anagnorisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean drinks, reflects, angsts, and has a moment of recognition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from Aristotle's Poetics. Anagnorisis is the moment when a protagonist comes to recognize a life-altering truth. 
> 
> Seems apt.  
> \--  
> Hello all my lovely readers! Happy New Year! This week's update is on the brief side, again, in part due to holiday commitments, but also because this ends at a organic dividing point from where the fic will be going next. 
> 
> This chapter is unbeta'ed and sent out into the world as-is, because my kids have not been away from me in two weeks. There should be some smut next week.

‘Just a way t’blow off steam, cher. That’s all,’ Benny had said.

_That’s all. That’s all. That’s all._

Just something casual. Fuck buddies. Benny’s had loads of ‘em.

Cas, though?

*

Dean swallows down the ‘however many fingers it is is probably too many fingers’ of whiskey in a single burning gulp, then slams the tumbler back onto the counter. Only he miscalculated somewhere in between the pour and the burn and the slam, and instead, the glass goes skittering across the counter before tipping onto its side and rolling onto the floor.

_Shit._

Dazed, he levels an accusing glare at the counter, then at his own hand for their joint roles in the glassware massacre. Then, he stares down at the shards of glass scattered across the kitchen floor, lets himself be mesmerized by how the shards catch and reflect the stark white light of the cheap, contractor-installed fixture, transforming it into a dangerous rainbow glittering across the tile.

He should clean it up. That would be the smart thing to do. The safe thing. Clean up before Sam gets here and yells at him for trying to drown his problems in a bottle.

Dean drops to his knees so that he can start to pick up the pieces. He’s collected the three largest pieces when he realizes that he probably should have something to hold them. Something other than his hand, that is. There are dots of blood forming in his left palm from where he’s been holding the pieces too tightly.

*

It’s not that he doesn’t want them to be happy. Cas, especially. I mean, he _has_ been telling Cas he needs to get laid, right? It’s just…Cas ain’t ever been the friends with benefits type _._ Benny’s never been much for relationships, at least not in the years Dean has known him, and it’s never seemed to be a problem for him. But Cas works different than that. Has to really care about somebody to let them in his pants, has to trust ‘em.

And hell, until recently, Dean would have bet you dollars to donuts that Cas and Benny weren’t even _friends,_ let alone friends worthy of _benefits._ Whenever he managed to get the three of them in one place (for _his_ sake, always, never theirs, his brain helpfully supplies), they’d spend a couple hours trading thinly-veiled barbs at each other.

Almost like they were competing for his attention.

And okay, maybe Dean liked that a little more than he probably should have. Alright, maybe a _lot_ more than he should have.

*

Dean’s thoughts—screw that, his whole _body_ , really—seem to be moving through molasses as he watches the red dots on his palm slowly trail their way into lines. He blinks, owlishly taking in his surroundings, as he slowly begins to register the sharp crunch beneath his knees as shattered pieces of glass embedding themselves into his jeans. Unthinking, he squeezes tighter around the largest shards, the jolt of pain surprising him as the line of blood thickens.

A broom! That’s what would help with the mess. A broom and a…the little tray you sweep things into. He blinks again, then rises to stand.

A broom. It’ll be easier to do this with a broom.

Dean makes his way to the utility closet, and then slowly, mechanically, sweeps up the broken glass.

*

_God, I’m an asshole._

After he puts away the broom and dustpan, Dean stumbles back toward the kitchen, stopping when the room starts to spin, his head swirling in a whiskey-fueled haze of regret and self-doubt. His head thunks against the wall as he continues to catalogue his every single shortcoming, adding some new bullet points to old standards like _I drink to much_ and _I’m not smart enough for Cas. I’m all too willing to drop my friends for a piece of ass,_ and _I can’t maintain a relationship to save my goddamn life._

It’s his own fucking fault they hooked up in the first place, and now he’s got the stones to be _jealous_ of his two best friends getting together? Yup, he’s a real winner.

_I’m a selfish fucking asshole, is what it boils down to._

They’re definitely better off ditching him for each other.

Shaking his head in disgust, Dean grabs the half-empty bottle of Jack and staggers across the stupid open-concept kitchen into the living room. Bottle in hand, he collapses onto the couch, thenbrings it straight to his lips this time.

*

Sometime later, maybe minutes or hours, Dean can’t quite tell how long he’s been there, he musters up the energy to lean forward and set down the bottle. Which he did _not_ finish like thepathetic drunk he is, thank you very much. That right there is personal growth, or some shit. He flops back onto the sofa and lets his head fall back against the cushions. Closes his eyes and tries to think.

He wants Cas to be happy, he really does. Wants them _both_ to be happy. It’s just…Benny and Cas, together. Like, _together_ together.

He can’t picture it, the two of ‘em, like…like _that_.

Benny and Cas, snuggled up all cozy, Cas tucked into Benny’s side like he belongs there, one of Benny’s massive arms slung, careless, over Cas’ surprisingly broad shoulders. Cas grinning, his eyes crinkling at the corners, lips so wide you can see his gums as he stares, all moon-faced, up at Benny.

Only…well, he _can_ picture ‘em like that, can’t he? Because that’s how they looked the last time Dean actually saw Cas in person, what with Cas being all busy with his stupid book project and disappearing off the face of the planet.

Only, that night was clearly _not_ the last time Benny’s seen him. It stings, to know that Cas doesn’t think he’s worth the effort, but Benny is. And ain’t that the rub? That Cas don’t have the time of day to spare for his _best friend_ since forever, but he can make time to get his dick wet. Or Benny’s. Whatever.

It stings even worse, if he’s honest with himself, to realize that this is the sort of shit he’s pulled on Cas for years. Cas deserves better friends, that’s for certain.

Cas and Benny. Together.

_Fuck._

Because he’s a fucking masochist, Dean lets his mind drift back to that night at the Roadhouse, before the clusterfuck of a hookup with the cute little bartender he’d worked so goddamn hard to repress the way the good Lord and John Winchester taught him, with booze and boobs.

He thought back to how happy Cas looked when Benny was talking to him. To that strange, almost protective way the larger man had wrapped himself around Cas.

He let himself remember how _that_ had stung, too. The way Benny had shifted his focus to _Cas_ , teasing him and winking at him, drawing the pink up to the surface of Cas’ cheeks. How Cas just ate that shit up, even though Benny’s a hound dog and will flirt with anything with a _pulse_ like it’s a goddamn competitive sport. Hell, he was even putting the charm onto _Dean_ that night; it’s not like it meant anything, and how the fuck does Cas not _see_ that?

_Fuck._

The room is going all blurred at the edges and everything is too hot inside his skin, like something’s simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to bubble over.

_Fuckingshitgoddamnsonofabitchmotherfucker._

His ribcage feels too tight to hold in all his insides, and soon he’s fighting to choke back some fucked up kind of hysterical laughter, when there ain’t nothing funny whatsoever happening. He struggles to take in a shaky breath, suddenly struck with sickening, heartbreaking clarity.

_I want them both._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please know that I read and appreciate every one of your comments, even though I've been slow to respond these last couple weeks. 
> 
> I've decided to stay clear of the debates over Dean and Benny as they're happening in the comments, because interpretation is in the eye of the beholder. I'm fascinated to see how y'all are responding to my takes on these characters and their interactions, to see the resonances and fissures emerging, and I do look forward to responding when I'm not so deep in the trenches of writing and revising.


	9. Now I see the road is bent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam have a heart to heart, and Dean fantasizes about what (read: who) he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wherein your humble author shows her age with this chapter title, from Debbie Gibson's "Only In My Dreams." 🤷🏻♀️

“Hold up,” Sam says, pausing to brush a too-long strand of hair out of his eyes. “Cas and Benny are hooking up? _Our_ Cas?” A crooked grin toys at the corner of his mouth, and it makes something inside Dean’s stomach clench up. Dean rolls his eyes and gives a frustrated, half-hearted shrugging response.

Chuckling, Sam gives a minute shake of his dumb Fabio hair and looks down at the counter, then takes a long pull from his beer. “Well, good for him.” His stupid face contorts into an even wider smile as helaughs, and Dean wants to punch it off him. “Andrea still waxes poetic about that guy. Er, well, at least a certain part of him, anyway. Apparently he’s hung like a—“

“Okay, first off,” Dean interjects, poking Sam in the chest for emphasis. “Benny is one of my best friends, so please don’t talk to me about his dick. There are _rules_ , dude.”

Sam smirks at him, and yeah, Dean definitely wants to punch something.

“And second…second—” he stutters, stumbling over his words. Heat spreads across his face, and he has to look away, can’t look Sammy in the eye now. It was bad enough figuring out how to say what he wants to say before Sam dropped that little bombshell on him, and _now_ he’s trying not to think about Benny’s apparently monster cock, too.

_Son of a bitch._

Dean takes a shaky breath in through his nose, then opens his mouth to exhale. He runs the tip of his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip, mapping out the rough little indentation that tastes vaguely of copper, and realizes he must have been biting it. Oops.

“Dean?” And _fuck_ , now the big moose is using his _feelings_ voice and is probably looking down at him with the full-on puppy dog eyes, and goddammit, when did his life turn into a fucking chick flick?

“Seriously, man, are you alright?”

Dean barks out an awkward laugh as he opens the fridge. “Shit, Sammy, save it for Lifetime.” He grabs a bottle from the door. “You want another one?” Dean hazards a quick look over his shoulder, and yep, Sam’s forehead is all wrinkled and his lips pursed, looking for all the world like he just smelled the world’s worst garlic and popcorn fart.

“ ’course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” Dean’s smile is all false bravado as he turns, nudging the refrigerator door closed with his hip. He holds a bottle out toward Sam, who just quirks an eyebrow and does that little ‘I’m worried about you’ head shake as he takes it.

And, okay, maybe he puts a little more force into it when he “accidentally” shoulders Gigantor as he brushes by him on his way into the living room, but he has to do _something_ to keep from bucklingunder the weight of his brother’s way too knowing expression.

Dean collapses onto the sofa with an audible groan, letting his head knock back onto the cushion while continuing to avoid answering Sam’s questions.

Feelings, man. Feelings are a fucking scam. Dean sighs, knowing Samantha won’t let him get away with this silence for long. He closes his eyes, tries in vain to massage some of the tension out from the space above his eyebrows. His head is throbbing, the pressure so intense it feels like his brain is trying to push his eyeballs out of their goddamn sockets. He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, because _that_ will definitely keep his eyes inside from exploding out of his skull.

“Hey bring me the advil, would ya?” Might as well make the kid be useful.

A few minutes of Sam rummaging through the kitchen and grumbling later, a small plastic bottle rattles as it lands on the cushion next to him. “Thanks, Sammy,” he says without opening his eyes.

Something cold lands hard on his lap, knocking the wind out of him for a moment. “What the fuck?” When everything blinks back into focus, he realizes it’s a bottle of water that attacked him. “Jesus fuck, Sammy, you coulda hurt me.”

“Suck it up, buttercup,” Sam snarks. “It’ll help with the headache.” Bleary-eyed, Dean wrestles the stupid childproof lid open and tips out a couple of pills, which he chases with a big gulp of water.

“Bitch,” he grumbles as Sam grabs the remote control, then settles at the opposite end of the sofa.

“Jerk.” Sam says, smiling like an idiot as he holds his beer out.

Dean rolls his eyes in fond annoyance, then reaches over, toasting with his water. “Thanks for coming, Sammy.”

“No problem, Dean,” Sam replies. “You got one episode of Dr. Sexy, and then you’re gonna spill.”

* * *

“Dude, I’m honored.” Sam’s staring at him like he’s a knight pledging his undying loyalty to his king, and _fuck_ , that’s somehow more mortifying than if he’d just laughed or something. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Dean’s face is on fire; his cheeks are actually goddamn stinging from his flushed skin. He’s not blushing at this point. No, whatever the fuck is going on with the blood and his skin has moved so far beyond the realm of blushing that he wouldn’t rule out the serious possibility of spontaneous combustion.

Which, honestly, would be a relief, because feelings are one gigantic cluster fuck of a scam.

Sam’s still talking, yammering on about…well, Dean hasn’t been paying attention _,_ what with the impending spontaneous combustion and all, but the moose is looking at him with his stupid puppy dog eyes all wide and proud, as though Dean’s done something to warrant it. It was the same damn look he had on his face when Dean got his GED certificate in the mail, and why the fuck can’t he just burst into flame when he needs to?

Yep, definitely a scam.

“You know Eileen and I will always support you,” Sam babbles, “like, a thousand percent. As long as you’re happy, that’s what matters. Love is love, y’know?” Then he’s shooting Dean this big smile that lights up his whole face. And something about that dopey, unguarded, _proud_ smile just hits Dean in the gut, has him looking into the past, right into the face of a gangly 14 year-old who still looked up to Dean, both literally and figuratively, and Dean can’t help but smile back. As he does, something uncoils beneath his ribcage, liquifying a huge knot of tension he hadn’t even realized was in there, putting pressure on his insides, until it starts to melt away.

It’s only when Dean takes in a deep breath that he realizes he’d been slowly suffocating.

Sammy’s okay with it. Of _course_ Sammy’s okay with it, it’s not like he thought Sam would have a problem, but it still feels good to have that confession out in the open.

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean mumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face as though it’ll wash away some of his awkwardness.

“Anyway…now that _that’s_ out in the open,” Sam begins, his voice suddenly treacly smooth and vaguely sinister, “how about you tell me about Cas?"

* * *

Midnight finds Dean staring at his ceiling, trapped in a daze caused by an unholy marriage of adrenaline and exhaustion brought on by having to deal with too many damn emotions at once. He turns onto his side, then over to the other, but he’s too damn twitchy to get comfortable. He can hear Sam sawing logs out on the pullout in the living room, because his baby brother can just do that, fall asleep when- and wherever, no problems whatsoever.

Dean kinda hates Sam a little for that right now.

_Buzz. Buzz._

_Buzz. Buzz._

He rolls over so that he can grab his phone. This late on a work night, it better be a goddamn emergency or a really fucking spectacular booty call.

** Cas **  
  
**Wednesday** 1:13 AM  
**Cas:** I just submitted my manuscript to my publisher!  
**Wednesday** 1:14 AM  
**Cas:** Are you free this weekend? Time to celebrate! 🎉🍾📚  
**Wednesday** 1:17 AM  
**Cas:** Dean?  
**Wednesday** 1:22 AM  
**Cas:** Dean??? I hope everything is okay.  
**Wednesday** 1:28 AM  
**Cas:** My apologies. I didn’t realize the time. I guess I’m a bit excited.  
**Wednesday** 1:37 AM  
**Cas:** Sleep well, Dean. I miss you.

Dean watches several more messages appear in rapid succession, but can’t bring himself to reply. What would he even say?

_Congratulations on the book! And, oh, by the way, I realized I’m into dudes, and I have feelings for you._

It’s too damn pathetic.

He tosses his phone back onto the nightstand, and stares at the ceiling some more, only now he’s trying not to think about Cas. About that satisfied little grin of his when he’s feeling all accomplished, the one Dean hasn’t seen in way too long. About the way the corners of his eyes start to crinkle when he’s really happy, just before he loses himself in laughter. How sometimes he’ll just toss his head back, joyful and open, laughing with his whole damn body, and how it makes Dean feel like the luckiest man in the world when he makes Cas laugh like that.

But Cas is with Benny now, and the thought of hits him like a hammer.

_Shit. Get your head out of your ass, Winchester. They’re still your best friends._

And that’s the thing, right? They are still his best friends, outside of Sammy. They _are_ ; absolutely nothing has changed in his relationship with either of them.

_Nothing has changed,_ he reminds himself. _Nothing has changed._

For them. But for Dean?

Everything has.

He stares at the water mark on the ceiling until he can’t keep his eyes open any longer, and hopes for a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Dean wakes slowly, drifting into consciousness in short measures as the daylight filtered through the gaps in his cheap blinds makes its way across his bedroom. He turns onto his side, hiding from the sunlight for just a few more moments, hoping to escape back into the comfort of his dream. Back to the warm press of bodies, the slick glide of sweaty skin on skin, the hot tease of a wet mouth along his throbbing cock, his balls, between his cheeks.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, Dean has rolled onto his stomach and is rocking his hips and rutting against the mattress. The friction feels good, but in the hazy afterglow of the dream, it’s nowhere near enough. He flips onto his back, groaning at the harsh glare of sunlight spreading through the room and tugging the spare pillow over his face to shield himself from it.

As he struggles to hold on to the images fading into his unconscious, Dean reaches down to pull off his boxers. He takes hold of his dick, slides the pad of his thumb over the tip, teasing along the edge of his foreskin to feel the wetness starting to bubble up from the slit. He massages the head with his fingertips to spread the precome around, then starts to stroke. Just short, twisting pulls at the tip to start before easing his fist down his shaft. It feels good, the way jerking off always feels good, but it’s still not _enough_. Not in the shadow of the dream, the visceral memory of warm mouths on him, the scrape of stubble against sensitive flesh.

Dean wants more.

He _needs_ more.

Giving his dick a firm squeeze, he brings his other hand down to cup his balls, rolling them gently in his palm until the tip of his middle finger brushes along his perineum.

_Fuck_.

Thankful he’s lucid enough to remember Sam’s sleeping just beyond the door, Dean bites his lip to keep from shouting. With one hand still tugging on his cock, he spreads his legs, planting his feet and curling his spine so that he can reach lower. He’s practically vibrating now, his whole body thrumming with arousal as he uses a single fingertip to trace a circle along the sensitive, puckered flesh of his asshole. The dual pleasure of it surprises him, a weird as fuck combination ofa new sensation somehow wrapped up in something familiar, a sense memory that exists only in a dream.

_Holy fucking fuck._

He’s close now, fucking into his fist as he rubs circles against his hole; it won’t take much more to send him over the edge. He squeezes his eyes shut, wills himself to _remember_ , dammit, and suddenlyhe’s overwhelmed by it. Cas and Benny holding him, mouthing hot kisses down his torso. The feel of large, calloused hands around dragging along his skin, squeezing his cock; of thick fingers pressing against and inside his hole.

_Fuck._

His orgasm catches him off guard, makes him whimper with its intensity as he shoots over his fist, splattering his second favorite Zeppelin shirt with come. He shudders through the aftershocks in a happy, post-orgasmic daze for what feels like approximately two eternities before reality pulls a Kool-Aid man crash into his brain.

He just had one of his most intense orgasms ever while fantasizing about Cas and Benny.

Cas and Benny are his best friends.

Cas and Benny are together.

And Dean is so so completely, totally _fucked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note for everyone - I've got two projects with deadlines next week, so there will not be a new chapter of this posted next week. Hit subscribe if you want to make sure that you're notified when the next chapter posts.


	10. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief Benny POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, have a tiny little chapterlet today, featuring a bit of Benny POV. Benny was _not_ supposed to have a speaking part in this fic, but you know how things go when the characters take over. 
> 
> Shrug.GIF

The problem with relationships is the feelings. The stupid tangle of emotions and all that unnecessary shit that bubbles up under your skin, like a cut that scabs over too soon, before the infection’s all the way cleared out. Leave it there unattended and it’ll fester, spread its way through your system all quiet-like until you’re sick with it. And just like an infected cut, it’s better in the long run to slice it open early, put enough pressure on it to force the infection out, all yellowed ooze and decay. Excise the contagion before it gets a foothold, before it has a chance to spread.

Benny’s good at doing that, the strategic cut and run before anything as messy as emotions gets involved. Usually.

Only this time? He done fucked up, and now everything’s gone to shit.

It’s not like he planned for it to happen. Naw, that first night, he’d just been bored and horny and just a tiny bit intrigued by the prospect of seeing Dean’s nerdy little friend lose the stick perpetually shoved up that tight little ass of his. And, _well._ Who can blame a man for wanting more after getting fucked so damn good he forgot his English?

So maybe he shouldn’ta kept going back.

Or staying the night after.

And, yeah, alright. In retrospect, all the cuddling was probably a bad idea, but Castiel was just so damn _snuggly_ after sex. That wild hair even more mussed than regular, those bright eyes shining and content as he folded himself up in Benny’s arms. At the time, Benny told himself he was doin’ it for Cas, and even managed to believe it. The little guy was just so damn needy about it. Not the fucking, though there was definitely some world-shattering going on there, but the other stuff. The after part. The way that rough voice trembled when he asked Benny to stay, like he was expecting anything but. Like nobody’d ever took him up on the offer before. The contented little sighs that Cas couldn’t quite stifle when he snuggled himself flush against Benny’s chest and pulled Benny’s arms exactly where he wanted ‘em to be.

By the time he realized Winchester returned Castiel’s feelings, it was too damn late. Benny had already fallen for the nerdy fucker, too.

_Shoulda just walked away._

A rustle of sheets interrupts his scattered train of thought as Castiel, still sleeping soundly, turns his body toward’s Benny. He settles his head onto Benny’s shoulder as he drapes his arm across Benny’s stomach, slots a bare calf between his legs. Without even thinking about it, Benny presses his lips to Castiel’s forehead, wraps his free arm around the other man’s torso, and draws him even tighter. Cas murmurs something unintelligible, then burrows his face into Benny’s chest.

Benny swallows, his tongue heavy in his throat, as he idly runs his palm up and down Cas’ spine. He tries to ignore the sting of unshed tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Tomorrow. They’ll get it all aired out tomorrow. He’ll get outta everyone’s way then.

But for now? Tonight? He can let himself have it just a little while longer.


	11. Broken Clockwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s for the best, Benny tells himself as he watches Castiel walk away. Even if his own heart doesn't believe it.  
> \--
> 
> Benny makes a tough decision, because he really does want the best for his friends, even if it does make him into a big pile of collateral damage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Stars, Saim Airey" 
> 
> We were lovers, we were doomed from the start  
> It was all broken clockwork, the dancers both fall appart  
> Maybe it was a dream, and I just woke up

Castiel’s head is pounding already, and the noise in the crowded club certainly doesn’t help anything. At least they haven’t turned on that godawful strobe light over the dance floor yet. He massages the tension knotted above his brow, then brings his empty glass back to his lips and tips it back, just in case he didn’t get the very last drop the last two times he tried.

Yup, still empty.

He sets the tumbler back down onto the table with a rattling thud that somehow carries over the din of the club, and then scans the room. If Balthazar even _tries_ to hook up with someone after goading Castiel into coming out tonight, he will have serious words. Bad things happen when his friends ditch him for bar hookups.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

*******

“You know how it is, brotha.” Benny fidgets, idly tracing the seam of the duvet, and stalwartly refuses to meet Castiel’s gaze.

Brother. _Brother._ Castiel’s stomach lurches at the word, careening its way toward his feet. He hasn’t felt so torn up about a term of casual affection since…well, since Dean said it. The same. damn. thing. _You’re like a brother to me, Cas._

Castiel’s mouth feels like he’s been gargling sand, his tongue about three sizes too big for his throat as he tries to swallow around it. He takes a moment to steel himself, then levels an icy glare at the other man.

“No, Benny,” Cas begins, hating that he can’t stop that pathetic tremolo of his voice. “I do _not_ ‘know how it is’.” He tries not to think about that time Benny had teased him for doing that, for using air quotes when he explained how his chair had criticized his ‘people skills.’ He tries not to think about a lot of things.

Benny rises from his seat at the foot of the bed and looks around the room, sheepish. He brushes past Castiel and reaches down to the floor. He grabs his boxers from where they’d landed the night before and shoves them into his coat pocket.

He still won’t look Cas in the eye.

“It’s just, well…I mean, it ain’t like we got anything going for real here, and—“ Benny glances up at him, those azure eyes too damn beautiful through his golden lashes, and Castiel bites the inside of his lip to keep it from trembling. _Fuck._ “We—I mean _it_ , I guess? Whatever this…this _thing_ we got, this arrangement? It’s just run its course, is all.”

“Oh.” Castiel closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. In the time it takes to let it go, he feels the walls sliding back into place. He’s well on his way back to the icy detachment that’s protected him so well over the years. When he looks at Benny this time, tilting his head and blinking slow and deliberate as an owl, it’s with a practiced, almost mathematical dispassion. Like Benny’s an equation to be solved, a passing curiosity.

Like he hasn’t just sucker punched him in the gut.

“Well, then,” Castiel says, his voice flat, drained of any affect or emotion. “I guess that’s that. I’ve got somewhere to be now, so you can let yourself out. Take care, Benny.”

*******

A thunk on the table startles Castiel back into the present. He lifts his head from where it’s fallen onto his forearms to see Balthazar slide a garish pink concoction in a highball glass in his direction as he settles back into the booth.

“Oh, _Cassie,”_ he laments, the sympathy in that ambiguously European voice downright cloying in its earnestness. If Balthazar is taking pity on him, he must be in even worse shape than he realized.

“What?” Castiel snaps as he pushes himself back upright, then reaches for the new drink. The question comes out harsher than Castiel intends, but Balthazar just shakes it off with a shrug and the slightest tilt of his head.

“None of that, darling,” Balthazar says between sips of his dirty martini. “You know I’m not the enemy here.” He quirks his brow and shoots Castiel a wry smile, then returns to his martini. Silent, he reaches for a menu and turns his attention to it. A thousand words remain unspoken, and Castiel feels the weight of each and every one in the pregnant silence that stretches out between them. Balthazar won’t press him for the sordid details, which is one of the reasons they’re friends. Despite his tendency to overshare about his own conquests, Balthazar has always respected Castiel’s boundaries.

“I’m sorry, Balt.” Castiel takes a tentative sip of his drink, then another and another. He rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck from side to side to alleviate the growing tension there. “It’s been a fraught week. Well, actually, it’s been substantially longer than that, and—“ he trails off, a bubble of confused frustration stealing his words. “I’ve just been dealing with…with something.”

“Did the situation with your closeted mechanic friend finally come to a head?” Balthazar asks, his eyes never leaving the menu in his hands.

Castiel’s jaw drops. So much for boundaries.

* * *

It’s for the best, Benny tells himself as he watches Castiel walk away, holding that sexy bedhead of his high as he goes. He’s left there, gawping after his angel—no, not his angel. Not now. Not anymore. Not _ever_ , his brain helpfully supplies—after _Castiel_ like a goddamn fish outta water. He’s an intruder now, standing here in Castiel’s sparsely furnished, yet still somehow cluttered bedroom. No longer welcome.

As he stares toward the bedroom door, Benny hears a jangle of keys, the sound of a door opening and slamming shut, and then Castiel is gone.

Still, Benny stands there. Numb. Silent.

It _is_ for the best.

It really is.

It _is._

Benny scans the room, searching for the boots he’d haphazardly tossed aside the night before. He knows he shouldn’t linger at Castiel’s place, but every movement is sluggish, like he’s moving his limbs through molasses, like it’s taking his synapses an extra beat or three to process information from his brain.

When he finally digs out his second boot from where it had ended up under the dresser, he sits on the rumpled bed to put them on. The evidence of last night’s activities— _their_ last night together, his dickhole brain reminds him—is a dried, light patch on the navy blue sheet next to his hip. Objectively, Benny knows it’s ridiculous to get sentimental about a goddamn come stain, and yet, here is, doin’ just that.

_Merde._

His eyes sting, his lids heavy with the weight of unshed tears, but Benny puts that mess outta mind as best as he can, takes a couple of fortifying breaths, and then hefts himself up from the bed. He glances back down at the bed, and then sets to work. After this morning, Castiel don’t deserve to come back to all that mess, too.

Benny gathers the soiled sheets and carries them down the hall. Cas has one of those fancy front loading washing machines with a secret compartment for the detergent, but it ain’t like it’s rocket science. A little bit of fiddling and it’s good to go. He sets those linens to wash and grabs a clean set from the shelf above the dryer, grateful that he doesn’t have to go searching through Castiel’s shit for clean linens.

When he finishes making the bed, Benny bites back a watery chuckle. First time he sees the absent-minded professor’s bed actually made and tidy, and it’s ‘cause he did it himself.

It’s the least Benny can do, though.

He scrawls a quick note telling Cas to put the sheets in the dryer and leaves it on the kitchen counter on his way out.

Benny hurries to his truck, scanning the parking lot on the off chance that Cas is out there, lingering, and he tries to convince himself that he’s _not_ disappointed when all he sees is a woman walking her dog.

The hard part is done, he tells himself, as he shuts the door. He puts the key in the ignition, letting it dangle without starting the engine, and then digs his phone out of his pocket. This next step would be a lot easier.

** Dean W **  
  
**Sunday** 09:17 AM  
**Me:** hey brother, drinks tonite?  
**Friday** 09:19 AM  
**Dean:** sure. roadhouse 9pm?  
**Me:** perfect. thx **Friday** 09:25 AM  
**Dean:** cya then


	12. A Science Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benny, Dean, and Sam meet at the Roadhouse for some conversation and introspection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for the long absence on this one, but I needed to take a break and get refocused when it veered off my original plan. I appreciate everyone's comments so much, so thank you for them. Chapter title from "The Scientist," by Coldplay. Sorry.

“Dude, ever hear that saying about a watched pot?”

Dean’s face heats up at the call out, because clearly he hasn’t been as subtle as he thought. Turning his attention away from the door, he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from firing back with something nasty. After all, Sammy’s doing him a solid by being here, right?

The big lug smirks at him from the other side of the table, then bends down to take his next shot. Dean takes another drink, and if he maybe hides behind the bottle a few seconds longer than necessary, that’s nobody’s business. Thankfully, Sam doesn’t call him on _that_ , too.

When it’s his turn again, Dean takes a couple of nervous bounces on the balls of his feet, rolls his neck from side to side to relieve some of the tension knotting through his spine. He moves around the table, slow and deliberate, studying the remaining balls. Sam’s won the last two rounds, and unless he pulls some sort of miracle shot here, it’s looking like the moose is about to go three for three. Tuning out the din of the crowd around him, Dean lines up his shot, and—

“Hey Benny!” Sam’s voice echoes above him.

—completely biffs it. _Dammit, Sammy._

Dean looks up to see his friend slowly making his way through the Sunday Night Football crowd, those broad shoulders parting throngs of football drunks like the Red Sea. At least Sam wasn’t pulling some immature bullshit fake out on him, which, truth be told, is definitely the sort of stunt Dean would’ve pulled on _him_ , if their situation were reversed. Of course, this means that Benny’s actually _here_ , and they haven’t really hung out since Dean’s big bisexual epiphany, and…and, well _._ Dean stands up straight (ha!) and tries not to gawp as Benny approaches. Tries not to notice how the denim hugs those thick thighs as he moves, the way that faded henley strains against his chest.

Did it just get hotter in here?

“Sam Winchester, as I live and breathe!” Benny offers a hand to the younger man only to pull him into a hug when Sam takes it. “Good to see ya, brotha.” They both do a very manly pat on the upper back to each other before they let go, and for some reason, Dean finds the whole exchange fascinating in a way it’s never been.

“Dean.” Benny nods in his direction, his voice curt. He makes no effort to close the distance between them, and that’s…different. Benny’s a _hugger._ He always has been.

“Heya, Benny.” Dean shoots him a weak smile and hopes that his face doesn’t look like he’s just been sucker punched.

Benny continues talking, like he hasn’t just shifted the world two degrees off its axis. “Y’all wanna keep playing, or go take a load off?”

“Let’s grab a table,” Sam answers, and god bless his giant of a baby brother, because Dean’s struggling to breathe right now. Words? They sure as fuck ain’t happening. Instead, he nods his agreement, holding his hand out for Sam’s cue, grateful for the small distraction. Putting their shit away will at least give him a couple minutes to compose himself.

_Fuck._

* * *

“Hey Benny!”

He’s barely made it through the Roadhouse door when he hears a familiar, if unexpected, voice through the rumble of voices. Benny does a quick scan of the room and sees Sam Winchester—well, more accurately, Sam Winchester’s head and a single waving arm—looming above the crowd.

 _This don’t change anything_ , he reminds himself. _Focus on the task at hand._ The specifics may have to shift a bit, but he just has to get it all out.

It’s fine. He’s _fine_ , and it don’t matter in the slightest that Dean’s baby brother is here, putting his nosy little puppy dog eyes all up in Benny’s business. ‘Sides, it ain’t like Benny had told Dean to come alone or anything.

_Pull yourself together._

He fumbles his way through awkward greetings, making a valiant attempt to ignore the little pang in his chest when he thinks of the last time he felt this awkward in the Roadhouse and what that had turned into.

 _Fuck._ The last thing he needs right now is to start thinking about Cas, dammit. As he turns his focus away from Sam, Benny can’t bring himself to meet Dean’s eyes. Instead, he stares resolutely at Dean’s boots while nodding hello. He presses a fingertip between his eyebrows, right at that spot that’s coiling up into beginnings of a tension headache.

This is still gonna suck.

He glances at the pool table behind Dean, at the cues in their hands. He looks at Sam, then scans the room. Still not quite willing or able to bring his eyes to Dean’s face.

Benny rubs a broad palm across the back of his head. “Y’all wanna keep playing, or go take a load off?”

“Let’s grab a table.”

“Sounds good, brotha.”

Sam makes a beeline for a booth tucked away in a relatively quiet corner at the back of the bar, while Dean returns their cues to the rack on the wall. Benny just stands there, frozen, before following Sam to the table and sliding into the patched vinyl bench across from him.

They sit in awkward silence for what feels like forever, then _of course_ they both start to talk at the same goddamn damn.

“How long you—“

“So, you and Cas, huh?”

 _Merde._ What the fuck ever happened to small talk?

Benny somehow manages to cough out a stilted laugh, even though his goddamn stomach just fell through the subfloor of this rickety old bar. His cheeks are warm. Too warm. Possibly on fire warm.

“Going straight for the kill shot, huh?”

Sam puts up both of his hands in faux surrender.

“I’m happy for you, man,” he says, a smile lighting up his face. “No, really. Y’all both deserve to be happy, y’know?”

The kicker, of course, is that he’s so damn earnest about it. That Sam actually fucking means it when he says that shit. Benny swallows around the lump forming in his throat. He may be able to stop the corner of his mouth from quirking into a melancholy smile, but he can’t mask the sadness in his eyes.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be happy about.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, there ain’t an _us_ , Sammy boy,” Benny says, his voice gruff. “What me and Cas…whatever that was? It wasn’t really a thing. And, besides, it ain’t _any_ thing anymore.”

“Oh.” Sam shifts in his seat, straightening up all tall and proper like Benny used to do when Sister Mary would rap his knuckles with that ruler. “Well, in that case, I’m sorry, man.”

“No worries, brotha.” Benny summons up some false bravado. _Laissez les bons temps rouler_ and all that shit. He can do this. “Anyways, it ain’t like our little professor angel could ever stray from his one true love.” He taps his knuckles on the table for emphasis, smiling wide and wolfish. And if the words taste bitter on his tongue as he speaks…well, he don’t have to share that with the class, now, does he?

“How ‘bout you, man?” Samuel looks like Benny just told him his puppy died, and there is such a thing as being too damn empathetic for your good. Benny’s gotta change the subject quick before the big ol’ baby starts talking about processing feelings or some shit. “How’s the wedding planning coming along? You gotten ‘leen to settle down and pick a date yet?”

Sam’s frown immediately softens out into something warm, a fond smile so soft and small it makes Benny’s gut clench. But hey, at least the pity’s gone from his eyes. _Thank fuck_.

“We’ve narrowed it down to spring or fall,” Sam begins, yammering on excitedly. Benny tries to focus on what he’s saying, truly he does, but the words just start to melt together like a Charlie Brown teacher. So he just pastes on a smile, nods occasionally, and throws in a noncommittal hum here and there.

“This seat taken?”

Dean’s voice at his side startles Benny back into the present. He cuts his eyes over to see Sam smirking at him, all knowing, and well, apparently Benny wasn’t as sly about tuning him out as he’d thought. Shrugging, he manages a weak smile, over at the younger man. “Sorry, guess I spaced out a little there.”

“No worries, man,” Sam answers. “Believe me, I get it. You actually held out longer than most people do when I get going about wedding stuff.”

“No wonder Benny looks ready to fall on his sword.” Dean drops down onto the bench next to Benny and slides in close. Benny tries not to be distracted by the line of heat now pressed along his thigh. “Y’gotta go easy on the normies, Sammy. Save the gushing for your slumber parties.”

“Nice, Dean.” Sam rolls his eyes, then glares at his brother as he continues, “Benny, I’m gonna get a drink. What do you want?”

Before Benny can open his mouth, Dean answers for him. “Make it three of whatever you’re having.”

Sam gets to his feet, and the two brothers have some sort of silent mind-meldconversation full of raised eyebrows and pursed lips as Benny looks on, baffled.

“So, uh, Benny,” Dean begins once Sam has walked out of earshot, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” He’s skittish as a feral kitten,those big green eyes darting all around the table as he chews nervously on his bottom lip. In that moment, he looks tiny.

“Yeah, _cher_?” Benny prods, as gently as he can. “What’s goin’ on?”

Dean takes in a shaky breath, like he’s steeling himself for something, and then looks Benny straight in the eye.

“I…uh, well, I wanted to tell you that—that I’m bi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re missing the smut here, might I direct you to this ridiculous pre-canon crackfic?  Batter Up, Stealing 5th, Deep into the Bench, & Other Baseball Puns: That Time Dean F*cked a Baseball Team


	13. Lay Down My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel deals with the breakup, while Benny deals with Dean's news. 
> 
> \--  
> Chapter Title from Bonnie Raitt, "I Can't Make You Love Me"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! 
> 
> I am doing my very best to get back into a regular weekly posting schedule with this fic. I wanted to let you all know that I've read and loved every single comment I've gotten on it, even though I haven't been replying. Do know that they mean the world to me and I appreciate everyone who takes the time to leave one.

“There we go, not much further.” Balthazar’s grip on Castiel’s waist tightens as they stumble up the staircase. “We’ll get you home and passed out, all safe and sound.”

Castiel trips over…over _something_ that got in the way of his steps. He looks down, finding nothing there but his on wobbly feet. It must of skittered away. He shakes his head, which makes the whole world spin backwards, and then quickly closes his eyes to halt the rotation. With his eyes shut, there’s less to distract from the insistent prattle of the man next to him.

“Y’know, Balthazar,” Castiel hiccups, “I never really noticed it before, but I find the sound of your voice…grating.” When he turns his head in Balthazar’s direction, Castiel has to close his eyes again. Stupid earth, with its stupid rotational axis. Something vile bubbles up from within, and Castiel can’t contain the acidic belch that bursts loose from his mouth. He’d apologize to Balt, but the man just doesn’t seem to know when to shut up.

“I love you, too, darling.” They’ve stopped moving, though it takes Castiel’s mind a few extra seconds to process that information. He blinks, slow and owlish, as he takes in his surroundings. His shoulder rests against the cold, rough brick of the wall next to his front door. “Now be a lamb, and hand me your keys. I’d rather not go fishing in the pockets of that filthy security blanket with sleeves.”

Castiel scowls at the familiar insult, but still does as Balthazar has requested, fishing deep into the outer pockets of his old trenchcoat. Once he’s retrieved them, Castiel stares down at the cool metal resting in the palm of his hand, which reminds him…”Balt, do you know where I left my car?”

“Still downtown, Cassie, dear. I’ll help you retrieve that eyesore of Americana tomorrow. Preferably _after_ you treat me to brunch.” With a pointed, withering glare, Balthazar takes the keys from Castiel’s hand and unlocks the door, then guides him inside.

Castiels’ breath catches in the back of his throat when he takes in his environment, alcohol-hazy eyes scanning the empty apartment as though it’s a minefield, searching for clues of…of something. Some sign of life, of companionship. Any lingering evidence at all that Benny was there, that he had ever been there.

Of course, there’s nothing. Why would there be?

 _“It ain’t like we got anything going for real here,”_ Benny had said to him, not even a day ago, even though it feels like longer. _“Whatever this…this thing we got, this arrangement? It’s just run its course, is all.”_ Even though it feels like it was barely an hour ago.

The whole place seems too big, too empty.

“I’m sorry, B-balthazar,” Castiel begins, his stomach roiling and throat burning from bile churning its way up, “I—thank you. You’re a good friend.” He lurches out of Balthazar’s hold and scrambles toward the kitchen, barely making it to the sink before the acidic contents of his stomach begin their forceful exit.

“Oh _Cassie_.” Somehow, despite the roar of the blood rushing into his skull, despite the staticky mess of too many thoughts swimming inside the drunken chaos of his mind, the consternation in Balthazar’s voice rings out clear as a bell.

Castiel is only vaguely aware of a surprisingly cool hand pressing at the back of his neck, the thunderous sound of water pouring from the faucet, before everything swirls together and fades into a blissful, empty silence.

* * *

_No shit, Sherlock._

Benny bites the inside of his cheek, hard enough that his mouth floods with the coppery taste of blood. Now’s not the time for sarcasm, though, he reminds himself, and does his damnedest to school his face into something that at least isn’t _obviously_ bitter. It’s a damn good thing Dean’s staring holes through the bar snacks menu right now, because otherwise he’d already have been caught.

“Well, now, ain’t that something,” Benny says, forcing the corner of his lips into his best approximation of a smile. “Can’t say I was expecting to hear you say _that_ tonight, brotha.”

“Is…, I-uh, I mean-,“ Dean stutters at the beaten up appetizer menu card haphazardly shoved into the wooden frame in the center of the table. “That’s not a…you don’t got a problem with it, do ya?”

Benny can’t help it, can’t stop the incredulous sigh that bursts from his lips. He rubs at the tense knot that’s been coalescing above his right eyebrow, hoping, in vain, to knock something a little loose.

“You gotta be shittin’ me, Winchester.” And okay, maybe he doesn’t try to mask the exasperation in his voice, but it’s been a goddamn rough day, and a man’s got his limits. “There is no way in God’s gay green earth that you just asked _me_ if I have a problem with you likin’ dick.” Benny rolls his eyes as he lets his hand fall away from his face. It lands on the table a bit harder than he anticipated, rattling the glasses and other shit scattered on top, and makes Dean’s shoulders tense up in the seat next to him.

_That was outta line, Lafitte. You don’t gotta take your shit out on him._

Benny closes his eyes, then takes in a shaky inhale. “Sorry, man. I’m…it’s been a long day. You know I’m always here for ya, and who you’re with don’t change a damn thing about it. And, well, I guess, welcome to the queer club. We have the best parties.”

“Thanks, man.” Dean’s cheeks flush the way they always do when he veers anywhere near the territory of sharing emotions. “I appreciate it.”

This time, when he smiles at Dean, it’s less forced. “Brotha, you know I got your back. Always.” Benny rests his hand on top of Dean’s shoulder, and is surprised when his friend maneuvers himself in the booth to give Benny a hug.

Dean clings to him in a way knocks the wind outta him, burying his face against Benny’s neck like he’s holding on for dear life, and something inside Benny breaks at it, at Dean’s complete (and, shockingly _sober)_ vulnerability. Benny’s tongue is suddenly too heavy in his throat, choking off his air supply, his eyes stinging at the enormity of what’s happening right here, right now, as Dean _‘no homo’_ Winchester is holding on to him, snotting up the shirt that Castiel said ‘really brought out the azure in his eyes.’

Dean’s in love with Castiel. Castiel’s in love with Dean. He’s known that since forever.

But now? Now Dean’s in love with Castiel, and _Dean_ knows it.

“Hate to break up the chick flick moment here, brotha,” Benny chuckles, his voice ringing hollow to his own ears, “but I gotta hit the head.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean sniffles as he pulls away, neither of them acknowledging the wetness on Dean’s face. “Sorry ‘bout that.” Dean slides away and stands up so that Benny can maneuver his way out of the booth.

“No worries, _cher_ ,” Benny tells him as he sits back down.

“Oh, and by the way, I just wanted to let you know that me an’ Cas? Yeah, that little thing we had goin’ kinda fizzled out. In case you wanted to know.” He awkwardly raps his knuckles on the tabletop, and shoots Dean what he hopes comes off as a nonchalant grin. “You can use that information as you see fit.”

Benny turns to walk away, the happy puppy-dog look on Winchester’s face indelible in his memory. _You did that,_ he reminds himself as he feels the first overflow spilling from the corner of his eye. _You gave him that moment._

If only he weren’t breaking his own damn heart to do it.

* * *

Castiel wakes to a cacophony on his balcony, a small murder of crows gathered on the railing and shrieking their secrets to one another, as well as to anyone in possession of ears within a five mile radius. For several arduous moments, Castiel is frozen in place, trying to piece together enough of the puzzle of last night’s events to understand why the shrieking corvids are such a bother.

Gradually, he becomes aware of several important details. First, he’s not in his bed, which is tucked away in the darkest room of his small apartment. No, the stripes of sunlight beating down on his face make that _abundantly_ clear. Even before he opens his eyes, he’s cringing at the harsh light painting the insides of his eyelids a garish orange. Bringing both hands to his face, Castiel digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, dislodging whatever it is that had crusted over the corners during the night. He takes a few experimental blinks with his eyes shielded, then slowly, reluctantly, removes his hands from his face and looks around his own living room.

Everything is too bright, too stark. He pushes himself up to seated and rolls his neck and shoulders to loosen up the tightness in his muscles. There’s an unopened bottle of water on the coffee table, alongside a bottle of ibuprofen and a sleeve of saltines. He reaches for the painkillers, a fond smile spreading across his face at the thought of Balthazar rifling through his cabinets to find the items he’d set out. Quickly, though, that smile becomes a grimace, at the rattle of the pills inside the bottle when he opens it and tips out what is probably more than a proper dosage. The inside of his mouth is sand-dry and rough as he pops the pills into it, and then chases them down with the lukewarm water, finishing the bottle off in just a few desperate gulps.

Castiel frowns uncertainly at the saltines before deciding that attempting anything solid is a bridge too far in his current state. More water, however, is necessary. He rises to stand on tentative, shaky legs, then reaches his arms overhead in a languid stretch. A glimpse of neon yellow from the corner of his eye draws his attention to a post-it note on the kitchen counter. Chuckling preemptively at Balthazar’s complaint (and likely demand for food), Castiel stumbles to the kitchen.

C-  
Laundry in washer. Be sure to switch it out.  
Take care.  
-B

Only the message scrawled across the garish yellow scrap of paper, signed only with a “B,” isn’t Balthazar’s loopy handwriting, Castiel realizes in horror when he’s still halfway across the room. And with that realization, his mind is suddenly flooded with images of the last twenty-four hours. Of waking warm in Benny’s arms, of leaving the bed just to get the coffee started. Of coming back to Benny, fully dressed and shame-faced, telling him that their stupid little fling was fucking _over._ Fresh tears burn his eyes as Castiel picks up the sticky note and crumples it in his hand, then rushes down the hall.

When he sees his bed, made with a military precision that no one but Benny would attempt, something just snaps. Castiel tears the duvet off the mattress and tosses it into a corner before he collapses onto the bed.

 _Fuck you, Benny._ The thought plays on a loop in his head until he drifts back into a fitful sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments mean the world to me, y'all. Come shout with me on [tumblr](https://judithandronicus.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/judithandronic1).
> 
> Rebloggable tumblr link available [here](https://judithandronicus.tumblr.com/post/636513122463711232/smut-alert-new-chapter-of-unhealthy-coping).


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